Autonomous Operation

A secure military area within Newark International Airport, New Jersey
May 16, 2006

The US Air Force Boeing 737 aircraft rolled to a stop, stairs built onto a motorized base pulled up to the side of the aircraft, and the door opened. Men and women, mostly in uniform, descended the stairs, and boarded a pair of buses. The last passengers to descend the stairs were two men in civilian clothes. A man standing near the base of the stairs, walked forward, and offered his hand to one of the men. “Welcome to America, Mr. Razmara. I was told you have been very helpful. I hope you enjoyed the debriefing period.”

The man replied in halting uncertain English. “Yes, It was very fine. Near sea. Very nice.”

“I have a car waiting. It's a short walk.”

They had held him in a large military base beside the ocean. No one told him where it was. Razmara had never seen the ocean before, and found walking beside it a novel experience.

He was well treated and allowed to call his wife. They had interrogated him almost every day, and asked many questions about the Revolutionary Guards, weapons, training, barracks, headquarters, discipline, procedures, communications, codes, senior officers, everything, but mostly they questioned him about the operation to infiltrate into Azerbaijan.

After the first week, they brought him documents, or sometimes recordings of voices, and asked him what was meant by this word, acronym, or phrase. Often he didn't know or could only speculate on possible meanings, but what he did know he told them, and, for the most part, his questioners seemed satisfied with his answers.

They took the bird away from him after the helicopter landed, and he never saw it again. One day he asked one of his interrogators what had happened to it. They told him that before he left this place, he would be required to sign a document that committed him to never speak of certain things to anyone, including classified equipment he may have knowledge of. This specifically meant the mechanical bird.

All the people he met in the camp spoke English, and as far as he knew the only people who spoke Farsi were his interrogators. Some people spoke English with a strange accent he found hard to understand, but perhaps it was just his limited vocabulary and lack of experience in the language.

His room had a television and all the channels were in English, but most of the programs were in that hard to understand English accent, so he used his free time to practice his English using the tapes they had given him.

“Captain, did you know the Iranian government has declared you dead?”

“My wife tell me this.”

Razmara paused and then continued in his halting English.

“First time, I dead. Hope next time, is good too.”

Razmara watched the man's reaction to see if his attempt at a joke, crossed the language barrier.

“We find that dead people are often more valuable than the living. Death wipes many things from the record.”

The man continued, “Before I take you to your new home, we need to complete some paperwork in order to issue you with a green card.”

“Green card?”

“It's a pass that means you are a legal resident.”

“Like American passport?”

“It's the first step to getting an American passport.”

The man opened the car's rear door, and indicated Razmara should enter. He climbed in and sat behind the driver. The man went around the vehicle, and sat beside the driver. He turned to Razmara.

“I am here to help you adjust to your new life in America. Please ask me any questions you have.”

Razmara had only one question. “When my family come?”

“Their plane has left Frankfurt, and they will be here in five hours time.”

“Thank you.”

He looked out of the window as the car left the airport, and turned onto a wide road filled with many large cars. They passed a very long building surrounded by a huge, almost empty parking lot. He silently mouthed the name across the front of the building, 'Crossroads Mall'.

He decided he would like living in America, but unlike the old man, he would never go back.

The End

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Chapter 61

2005-12-08T02:27:00.000-08:00

The Walter Reed Army Medical Center, Washington, D.C.
May 15, 2005

Sergeant Jackson entered the hospital reception, and asked for Sergeant Allen's room. The woman at reception typed on a computer, and gave him the room number and directions to get there.

Jackson walked into Allen's room and found him propped up in bed reading a book.

“How are you, Joe?”

“I'm fine. Good to see you, Delisle.”

“How's the shoulder?”

“It still aches. The doctors say I'll get some use back and even some feeling, but it will never be like it was before.”

“That’s too bad. Is the army going to invalid you out?”

“The Colonel himself, came by yesterday, and told me that I could be invalided out if that’s what I really wanted, but the Army needs all the Special Forces it can get, and that means it needs all the Special Forces instructors it can get. So I agreed to stay in, and they are going to send me to instructors school.”

“Good! Any idea what you want to specialize in?”

“I thought unmanned and autonomous weapons. From what I've heard, I think we will be doing a lot more ops using robots in the future. It looks like the future of warfare, at least our kind of warfare, but I will miss being on active service.”

Jackson nodded his agreement, and wondered how many of those operations would need men and how many would just use machines.

“You remember what happened?”

“I was firing single shots at the terrorist who were about two hundred and fifty meters away. I had hit at least eight of them, when an RPG round came arcing over, and exploded way behind me, then the next one came directly at me. You can see those things coming because of the propellant burning. Next thing I know, I'm lying on the ground and I can't get up because my left arm doesn't work. I managed to sit up, and tell you I'd been hit.”

“The same guy nearly got me. He had a launcher with a thermal imagining sight. I brought it back. If you are curious, it's hanging up in the base museum."

“Delisle, I never got a chance to thank you for saving my life.”

“We saved each others lives. That’s what a team does.”

“Still, I owe my life to you.”

Jackson silently acknowledged Allen's statement, before changing the subject.

“Pasco is back on duty. He only spent one day in hospital. You would think he would have the decency to get a real wound after what he put me through.”

“Pasco is a good soldier. He's a lucky soldier too. Good and lucky are what every soldier wants to be. Are you still working on that classified project?”

“You should know better than to ask about classified projects. I can tell you, the project wants me back as a technical adviser, and pulled some strings to make sure it happens.”

“Are you happy about that? You were always a soldier's soldier; by-the-book, and always keen for training and exercises. I find it hard to see you working in an office with a bunch of geeks.”

Sergeant Jackson thought for a moment, and said, “When I was a boy, my uncle was a soldier. He was my father's older brother. Everyone in the family respected him, and went to him for advice. He always looked so smart in his uniform, and while the other boys wanted to be lawyers, policemen or professional athletes, I always wanted to be a soldier.

“My uncle twice went for Delta Force selection, and both times failed. He told me years later, how disappointed he was. So when I found out I had successfully completed the selection, I was overjoyed. It was my highest ambition to be a member of Delta Force, and achieve what my uncle wanted so much. I thought becoming a Special Forces soldier was the best thing that could ever happen to me. There was nothing else I wanted to do, but that was until they assigned me to the classified project. I now realize, developing robotic weapons is something I want to do more.

“I am not a brilliant engineer or a computer wizard like some of those guys, but what they don't have, is a soldier's perspective. They don't see things the way a serving soldier does, and they need that perspective if they are going to develop robotic weapons the Army can use – weapons that will win battles and save soldiers' lives. I know I can contribute a lot.”

Allen thought Jackson was also a lucky soldier, but then luck was what happened when preparation and opportunity met.

“I hear you and Pasco are up for real medals.”

“They are talking about the Silver Star”

Jackson switched to another topic. “What happened to the Iranian? He was a strange one.”

“I don't know, the CIA took him, and the mechanical bird, away as soon as we landed, and I never saw him again. You are right, there was something strange about him. I was conscious the whole time in the chopper. He clutched that dammed bird to him all the way back and just stared at me. Didn't say a word.”

Allen paused before continuing, “I would have happily killed the motherfucker. He led us into a trap.”

“I don't think he knew about the shepherd or that the shepherd would fire a gun.”

“I think we got lucky. I've thought a lot about that night lying here in this bed. I think he meant for us to be attacked on the way back, and the shepherd’s gunshot prematurely triggered the ambush. The Iranian knew about the terrorists in the village, and deliberately didn't tell us. He didn't know about the helicopter. He must have thought, once we were on the other side of the village, we were trapped with no way out. I think he wanted us to die there, or worse get captured and paraded as spies through the streets of Tehran, and then spend years in a stinking prison cell.”

“Maybe! I thought it might have been a deliberate trap.”

Sergeant Jackson had told his debriefers more-or-less as much, but he had thought more about having to kill the Iranian if he jeopardized the team's safety, which he unquestionably had. As the person in command, he thought he could not have possibly ordered someone else, but then he hadn't known Allen would have willingly done it.

Allen said, “Some Army Ranger buddies of mine came by to visit. They told me that Army Ranger Captain you met, Freedman got promoted to Major.”

“I'm not surprised. He seemed good enough at working the system to make General.”

Chapter 62

Chapter 60

2005-12-08T02:21:00.000-08:00

National Security briefing, the White House, Washington, D.C.
May 2, 2006, 0900 Eastern Standard Time

“Mr. President we have an analysis of the Special Forces mission you authorized two weeks ago into the Iranian border area of Azerbaijan, and its consequences.”

The President replied, “I've read the mission reports. When I send our men and women into harms way, I am always concerned to know what happens to them.”

The National Security Advisor said, “First, the outcomes of the US Army Ranger mission and the follow-on covert mission to recover the missing autonomous aerial vehicle.

“The Rangers achieved all mission objectives according to plan. A large group of terrorist infiltrators was successfully intercepted, and most were, killed, wounded, or captured. The remainder fled back to Iran.

Several of the captured men are from the Department of Liberation and Revolutionary Movements of the Iranian Revolutionary Guards, and they are providing interesting intelligence on current operational plans for Islamic terrorism.

“We also captured two Turkmenistan nationals. It appears they were part of a group of four men from the Turkmenistan Islamic Front, who the Iranians were training on terrorist operations.

“The Army Rangers were picked up according to plan, and flown back to their temporary base in Romania. We have transferred eight of the captured Iranians and the two Turkmens to a secure location for further interrogation. We handed the rest of the prisoners over to the Azerbaijani authorities.

”There were one US fatality and eight wounded, two of those seriously.

“The follow-on Delta Force mission also achieved its objectives, although not according to plan. The classified equipment was recovered, and an Iranian Revolutionary Guards defector successfully extracted. An estimated twenty-five Iranian and local terrorists were killed or wounded.

“There were two US fatalities and four wounded. The fatalities were a CIA Special Activities operative and a civilian contractor. One of the wounded, a Delta Force soldier, is still in hospital recovering and will have a permanent disability.

“You know, I am strongly of the view, the US military should make every effort to ensure men and woman injured in the line of duty are given the opportunity to stay in the military and perform productive roles.”

“Mr. President, I have conveyed your views to his commanding officer.”

“The mission team leader, a Sergeant Jackson, showed exceptional courage during the mission, and almost certainly saved the life of one of his men. He also displayed intelligence and resolve to get them rescued. You will get a recommendation that he receives the Silver Star, and that one of the team members, a Sergeant Pasco, receives the Bronze Star.”

“From what I've heard, they deserve it. I will approve that request, and I would like to present it personally to both men.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“The Republican Guards defector was handed over to the CIA. They report he is cooperating, and providing good information.

“Now for the consequences of the two operations. The Azerbaijan government is now convinced it has to do more to secure its border with Iran. They claim they were unaware of the scale and seriousness of the infiltrations. We have helped them develop a plan to get better control over the border areas. The usual things; build roads, schools, medical clinics, train the police force, and crackdown on corruption. We are also training a quick-reaction border protection force.

“The Azerbaijanis followed up on the information we provided them on the Arab terrorists and their likely destination. They tracked them down, but unfortunately, their police bungled the raid, and most of the terrorists got away, but they did kill the leader, and he has been on our wanted list for quite a while.

“The Russians called our Moscow ambassador in, and protested our interference in an independent country allied with Russia, but it was pro forma. The Russians seem to recognize that what we are doing is to their advantage.

“There has been nothing at all from the Iranians. We expected some kind of reaction, but there was not even the usual rhetoric in the government-controlled press. There was a report from the Iranian News Agency about a large number of Revolutionary Guards killed by an avalanche during an exercise in Northern Iran. It looks like they want to keep this defeat secret.”

“Do we want to keep it secret?”

“We let some details leak out, although without any mention of the classified equipment. It didn't make much of an impact in the mainstream media, but it did cause a fair amount of interest at the usual places on the Internet. So we are confident our enemies know about this defeat, but not how we pulled it off.”

“The classified equipment, what's it called?”

“It’s called the Mobile Autonomous Area Denial System.”

“Yes, MAADS. What’s our assessment of its performance?”

“I spoke to Jason Watts, the Deputy Director at DARPA. He told me, MAADS was an experimental project, and they were a little surprised, it could be successfully deployed at such short notice. DARPA funds a number of autonomous weapon projects, and they believe MAADS is one of the most promising.

“The Deputy Director told me they originally funded MAADS, in large part, because key people on the project demonstrated a clarity of vision combined with the capacity to execute, a combination they often find lacking.

“He also told me, DARPA's mission includes advancing understanding of defense related technologies and their development. Even if the MAADS system could not have been deployed, they would have still considered it a success because of its contribution to knowledge and understanding of autonomous weapons development. DARPA sees considerable potential in the MAADS technology, as well as the development process MAADS used.”

“How did MAADS technology perform?”

“Overall, it provided several capabilities that within the mission constraints, we couldn't have provided by any other means. In particular it provided, detailed real-time intelligence of an area far from our nearest conventional military resources, and the ability to use lethal force against terrorist infiltrators after an extended period in the field. It successfully provided these capabilities despite several key equipment failures and failures to perform to specification.”

The briefer continued speaking. ”I also talked with the Army Rangers' Commanding Officer, and he told me the detailed real-time intelligence provided by MAADS, both before they put boots on the ground and after they had deployed, proved extremely valuable in gaining tactical advantage.

“He believes that being able to precisely locate the enemy, and then put their men in the right place on a just-in-time basis will better utilize our limited and over-stretched Special Forces. He thinks this kind of very precise real-time intelligence, together with the ability to use lethal force in remote areas without deploying troops, will significantly change the nature of Special Forces operations.

“He also told me senior Army officers are keen to run exercises with MAADS systems on the blue force's side as well as the red force's side in order to develop tactics and doctrine on how to best use robotic technology, and how to counter it.”

“What does Delta Force think?”

“Delta Force is not like a conventional military unit. What the NCOs think is more important than what the senior officers think. I read Sergeant Jackson's mission report and it is a fascinating insight into the future of man versus machine combat. I'll arrange for you to get a copy Mr. President, but what struck me was how he needed to out think the robots.”

“I will ensure I read it. Continue!”

“A proposal has been made to fund the MAADS project for another eighteen months, and to considerably expand its objectives. A primary objective is to have a significant number of MAADS systems ready for deployment whenever we need their capabilities. DARPA has already decided to provide the funding.

”There is one other thing, Mr. President. We have satellite intelligence suggesting the Iranians are building two camps near the Turkmenistan border that appear very similar to the camps in Northern Iran where they trained the terrorists who infiltrated Azerbaijan.”

“So we think the Iranians are targeting Turkmenistan next. Do we know when?”

“It could be this fall, but we believe next spring is more likely.”

“So, Turkmenistan is going to be next year's small war?”

“It looks very much like it will be, Mr. President, but stopping the infiltrators will be more difficult because the border is much longer, the mountains are much higher, and it is equally far or further from any place we can base troops or position our Naval assets.”

“Let's make sure we have enough of those MAADS systems ready by next spring. It looks like we are going to need them.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Chapter 61

Chapter 59

2005-12-08T01:45:00.000-08:00

Mihail Kogalniceanu Military Air Base, Romania
April 19, 2006

The MAADS team had fallen into a regular routine after the hectic events of a week earlier. Charles had created a schedule, so someone was always monitoring the live images from the remaining MAADS system.

They had destroyed MAADS system D after Jackson had disabled all the robots. Charles had supported Fiona's proposal they fly the aerial vehicle back to System B. But the effect was to draw attention to the fact System B no longer had an aerial vehicle, and they were ordered to destroy it as well.

Captain Freedman justified the decision by saying, “Flying aerial vehicles around remote mountains, and out of communication, looks a good way to lose them. The Army doesn't want any more classified equipment lost.”

Fiona called Charles over, and said, “Look at this, coming from System A's aerial vehicle.”

Charles walked across and saw an infrared image from the aerial vehicle. It showed more than twenty red dots strung out in a loose line.

“What are they?”

“I'll switch to the visual image. You can just make out white shapes here and here. They are sheep.”

“Are there any shepherds?”

“The aerial vehicle is in the process of checking out each infrared target to establish which are people. It hasn't found any yet, but it has only just started. If you look back at the infrared image, these heat points here have a larger signature.”

“Do you think they are people?”

“No, I think they are horses, but I did get a glimpse of a dog a minute ago. Where there is a dog there is likely to be an owner.”

“Is System A's threat level still set to medium?”

“Yes”

“Then set it to low. If a shepherd appears, and he's armed, I don't want MAADS killing him. We can set it back if they are armed infiltrators.”

“Fiona typed on her keyboard. “OK, it’s done. I have a visual on those larger infrared heat sources. It's two men leading a number of pack horses.”

Charles said, “Pull the tactical robots back from the trail toward the control unit. Make sure they still have the trail in view, but are far enough away they should remain unnoticed. How far away are the men from the robots’ position?”

“They are about a kilometer away.”

“I need to get Captain Freedman.” Charles rose, and left the room.

He returned a couple of minutes later accompanied by the Captain.

Captain Freeman asked Fiona, “How close to the MAADS system are the men now?”

“They are about six hundred meters away. The aerial vehicle thinks it is tracking eight men.”

“Are any of them armed?”

“We can't tell from the aerial vehicle's view. We will have to wait until they come into view of the tactical robots, which should be in another two or three minutes.”

Captain Freedman said, “Charles told me, you have set the threat level to low and as a result MAADS will not use lethal force in any circumstances. Is that the only way to stop the system killing innocent civilians?”

Charles intercepted the loaded question. He had noticed over the last week that Captain Freedman had become progressively more antithetic toward MAADS, and Charles wondered what was in the reports he sending to General Waxley.

“With the previous settings, if MAADS detects an armed man who is not carrying an IFF, it concludes they are hostile. Setting the threat level to low will ensure MAADS does not harm innocent civilians.”

“How long will it take to reset the threat level?”

Fiona answered, “Thirty seconds. By the way, I checked the satellite schedule while you were away, and we have the satellite for the next three hours.”

Fiona, Charles, Richard, and Captain Freedman sat watching the alternating visual and infrared images transmitted from the tactical robots, waiting to see what happened next.

A number of sheep came into view, moving along the trail. More sheep appeared on the screen, and then two dogs, one on each side of the flock of sheep. The first person they saw was a boy about twelve years old. He was carrying a stick longer than the boy was tall. A man closely followed him with a rifle slung across his back. The man was leading a horse, then more sheep appeared, followed by eight heavily laden horses accompanied by four armed men.

Charles broke the silence. “My guess is they are smugglers.”

Captain Freeman responded, “Do we know what they are smuggling?”

Charles looked at Freedman. “Does it matter?”

“They could be smuggling weapons.”

Richard said, “This is a wildass guess, but I'd say they were smuggling sheep.”

Charles shot a look at Richard that said 'keep out of this'.

Charles said, “We have no way of knowing what is in the packs, but when the terrorist infiltrators came through it was obvious, their horses carried weapons. There is no sign of any weapons on these horses. We should let them pass unmolested.”

Charles looked pointedly at the Captain. “We have to assume these are civilians, even though they are armed.”

Captain Freedman didn't reply, but signaled his agreement by a slight nod of the head.

They watched the screens in silence as men, horses, and sheep moved along the trail, past the watching robots.

***

The following morning, Captain Freedman entered the project room and came directly to Charles.

“You are ordered to destroy MAADS system D immediately.”

“What happened to my proposal that we recover it?”

“Your proposal was evaluated, and rejected due to nonavailability of transportation and other necessary assets within the required timeframes.”

Charles had tried hard to persuade Captain Freedman of the importance of recovering the last remaining MAADS system.

“Is there any possibility, the decision can be reconsidered? We need to know the effects of the parachute deployment and several weeks on the mountain passes. There may be significant damage or other problems we cannot detect remotely?”

“Mr. Corrigan, we took those factors into consideration in making the decision. But you must understand that MAADS' failure to protect itself, the loss of the aerial vehicle, your inability to destroy the lost aerial vehicle, and then Sergeant Jackson disabling all of the System D robots, has resulted in the perception that leaving any of these systems deployed entails too many risks. Destroying the last MAADS system is a higher priority than recovering it.

“You must destroy the system as soon as possible.”

Even though Charles knew MAADS was designed to be disposable, it was still difficult for him to destroy the last remaining example of something he had spent more than two years working to create. He had made every effort to ensure the success of MAADS, and now he had been told to turn the last working system into a pile of burnt and broken metal that would rust away on a remote mountainside.

He reluctantly told the others to get the tactical robots and the aerial vehicle back to the control unit, and to prepare the system for destruction. The mood in the project room was melancholy, and no one said what all thought. This was the end of the MAADS project. It had failed or hadn’t succeeded enough to justify continuing, and all that was left was to tidy up the loose ends.

Charles thought they had learned a lot from this deployment, and it was a shame they wouldn't get to apply those lessons.

It was time to update his resume, and start calling around to see who was hiring.

Chapter 60

Chapter 58

2005-12-08T01:12:00.000-08:00

A high valley in the Talish Mountains, Azerbaijan
April 14, 2006, 1500 Local Time

Jackson enjoyed the easy downhill walk back to where he had left Pasco. It was a pleasure to be alive, and not have to wear the insulated material. He chewed on the dried beef he had left, and when that was finished, the peanuts.

He reached Pasco just before dusk having contacted him by radio forty minutes earlier.

Pasco had made a steaming mug of hot coffee with his little stove, and handed it to Jackson as he arrived.

“How did it go?”

“More-or-less according to plan.”

Jackson gave Pasco enough of the details he could appreciate what had happened, while minimizing information that revealed how MAADS worked.

“So a rescue mission should be coming soon.”

“Assuming they could see me. I estimate it will take a minimum of twelve hours to organize. We might see it before dawn tomorrow, otherwise tomorrow night.”

“I think we should celebrate with a couple of MREs. Chicken or sausage?”

“I’ll take the chicken.”

“Good choice.”

Jackson asked “Any action here?”

“I saw some men collecting bodies after you left this morning, but no one came close to my position.”

“You think they know we are still here?”

“I don’t know, but they give no indication they want to find out.”

When both men had finished their meals, Pasco said he would keep watch until midnight then wake Jackson to take over. Jackson lay back against the rock, using Pasco’s pack for a pillow, and fell asleep.

Jackson was sleeping soundly when Pasco woke him.

“Everything is quiet. Nothing on the comms net.”

Jackson put on his night vision goggles, and could see the cup in Pasco’s hand.

“Is that for me?”

“Hot coffee from room service.”

“Thanks, I might get myself one of those little stoves.”

Jackson took his coffee, and moved to a position where he could see out across the valley below them. The night was cold, but Jackson knew it would be a while before he complained about the cold.

He settled down to keep watch until 0400 when he would wake Pasco for the last watch before dawn.

***

His comms headset came to life. “Eagle One, come in.”

“This is Eagle One.”

“This is Swift Condor. We are approaching your position. ETA is fifteen minutes. We need a sitrep.”

Jackson gave them a summary of the last thirty-six hours, and then went into more detail on the helicopter shoot down. “The terrorists fired at the helicopter and brought it down. We don’t know what happened to the crew.”

“Is it possible the crew survived?”

“I don’t know, but it's possible. If they did, then they are likely in the village.”

“Is either of you injured?”

“Pasco has a foot injury but can walk. I'm fit”

“Can you mark an LZ at your location?”

“No suitable LZ here. Repeat no suitable LZ.”

“Can you get to a suitable LZ?”

“Affirmative, but we need time, at least ten minutes.”

“You've got it, but no longer?”

“Roger and out.”

“No, we have more questions for you.”

Jackson hurried over to wake Pasco. “A rescue helicopter is on its way. We have to get down the cliff. How's your ankle?”

“For a rescue helicopter, I'd dance down.”

Jackson grabbed the pack, and started down the steep trail to the valley below.

The voice over the net asked, “Have you seen the layout of the village?”

“Only from a distance. It's one street, half a dozen alleys on the side I saw, perhaps fifty dwellings in total, with some animal pens, and what looked like storage sheds.”

“How many bad guys are there?”

“All I can say is, there are twenty less after last night.”

Jackson waited for the response. “We are going in to find the missing men. If it’s a one street town, the main force will start at one end, and sweep through the town toward a blocking force positioned at the other end.”

Jackson switched to the local net. “Pasco, did you hear that?”

“I heard.”

Jackson made it to the bottom of the cliff. He looked back to find Pasco most of the way down.
Jackson walked a hundred meters from the cliff, took out Pasco's handheld strobe ready to signal the helicopters when they arrived. Pasco hobbled up to his position.

Pasco said, “I hear the chopper.”

Jackson couldn’t, but then his hearing was still messed-up from the RPG blast.

“Eagle One, we are almost at your position. We need a signal.”

“Turning the strobe on now.”

Jackson flipped the switch and pointed the strobe into the air.

“Eagle One, we see your signal. We are coming down.”

Jackson could see the helicopter through his night vision before he heard it. As it descended, he could see three other helicopters circling above.

The Blackhawk helicopter landed, Jackson helped Pasco over to it, hands pulled them onboard, and it lifted off. The helicopter contained ten Delta Force soldiers and one officer. Jackson recognized some of the men from the hostage rescue team based in Germany.

The officer said, “We are the blocking force. We will go into position at the southern end of the village. Our job is to seal all exits from the village. Sergeant Jackson, are you good to go?”

“I’m good to go.” Jackson knew mentioning his injured rear-end in front of these men guaranteed he would be the butt of jokes for a very long time.

“I want you to pair up with Holmes, and cover the alleys on the left-hand side of the village. Pasco you are security on the helicopter. You need ammo?”

Both men answered yes, and the officer handed them a pack containing magazines. He asked, “Anything we should know before we go in.”

“The terrorists fight, but are not well organized. They have RPGs and at least one of the men we killed knew how to use one. No sign of any surface to air.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. We will keep the choppers high.

The officer handed Jackson a pair of gloves, “You will need these.”

A minute later, the helicopter hovered fifteen meters above the ground, and men threw rappelling ropes out the open doors. They went down the ropes in a practiced order. Jackson was the last to go. Pasco gave him a thumbs-up as he exited the door.

Two seconds later he was on the ground, watching the men in front of him fanning out as the helicopter moved higher and away from the village. Jackson followed Holmes as he moved to the left, stopping where they would be able to see anyone exiting the side alleys.

He was familiar with the procedure for this kind of search and locate operation. The searching forced kicked and blew down doors and walls until they found what they were looking for. Fifty, one and two room, houses wouldn’t take long to search assuming they met no resistance.

The two helicopters he had seen hovering on the far side of the village were now high in the air. He couldn’t see the men at the other end of the village, but they should be breaking down the first doors by now. The fourth helicopter, presumably an armored gunship, hovered directly over the village.

Jackson heard the distinctive sound of a short-barreled shotgun firing, over the voices coming across the net. Shotguns were used to blown the locks off doors and generally intimidate anyone inside.

“Two men cuffed, no hostages.”

“One man cuffed, no hostages.”

The calls continued as the men worked their way down the village.

Jackson saw a man run out of one of the alleys, but as far as he could tell, the man was unarmed. He let him go.

He heard gunshots.

“Double tapped a bad guy. He came to the door with a gun. Dumb fuck!”

Jackson saw two men running out of an alley halfway down the village. One was clearly armed. He aimed a little ahead of the running man, but before he could fire, Holmes fired, and the man went down. The other man kept running.

“Found the spook. He has a broken leg, otherwise OK.”

There was a pause, and then, “He says the pilot is dead.”

“Do we have a body?”

“The spook says they buried him yesterday.”

“We aren't going to dig him up. Withdraw to the extraction points. Go!”

As he was withdrawing, Jackson saw three men burst out of a door a short way down the narrow dirt street. The men started firing in both directions. There were more men inside the house firing out onto the street. Jackson heard a shouted ‘Allaho Akbar’.

The men in the street stood no chance, and within seconds, all three of them were lying dead or wounded. The men inside the house continued firing. Over the net, he heard the officer give orders to the gunship hovering above them. Someone would be painting the house with a laser target designator.

He had seen a Blackhawk’s Gatling gun in action before, but it never failed to chill him when the stream of projectiles demolished a structure. The stone and mud building seemed to shudder before disappearing in cloud of dust.

He heard women wailing as he moved back to the extraction point.

The helicopters came down to pick up the men. Jackson heard over the net, everyone was accounted for.

Jackson was the last to climb aboard the helicopter. It immediately lifted off. The D men were pumped, happy to have pulled off a successful rescue mission without taking casualties.

Jackson turned to the officer, and told him Herb’s body was still lying in the meadow. Jackson saw the hesitation in the man’s face. He didn’t want to spoil the mood by bringing onboard a dead body.

Jackson continued looking into the officer’s face, and saw his sense of duty take over. Jackson handed him his GPS showing the location he had saved when he was beside Herb’s body. The officer looked at it and nodded. He spoke into his microphone, and handed the GPS to the copilot.

The helicopter changed course, and a short while later landed. Jackson was the first out, and found Herb’s body immediately. He saw three men behind him with a stretcher. They lifted Herb’s body onto the stretcher and carried it back to the helicopter.

When they were back in the air, the mood in the helicopter was somber.

They flew for over an hour before landing at the outer edge of a rundown airport with several wrecked planes in view. Jackson thought they were in Georgia, but there were no signs, and he had no idea, what the Georgian language’s script looked like.

Two battered refueling trucks with Cyrillic lettering were waiting. The officer ordered the men off the helicopter while it was refueled.

Jackson walked over to the second CIA man whose name he didn’t know. He was lying on a stretcher, and recognized Jackson. “Herb, how did it happen?”

Jackson knew the people who lived wanted the men who died to be heroes. He would have to agree a story with Pasco for the debriefers, as well as Herb’s friends and family.

“The terrorists shot him while he was defending himself and my buddy Sergeant Pasco.”

“Herb was a good spook, a good Special Activities man, but he always wanted to be a real soldier. You guys, I mean Delta Force, were his heroes. He got his chance to be a real soldier, and I guess he paid the price. I think he would have thought the price worth paying.”

“Yes, he was a hero. He died defending an injured man.”

“Sergeant Delisle Jackson.” Jackson leaned over and shook the man’s hand.

“Carlos Vincennes, and thank you for telling me that.”

Jackson needed to know what had happened to cause their extraction to go so disastrously wrong.

“Carlos, what happened when you came in to extract us? Why didn’t you land on the GPS location I gave you?”

Carlos looked him directly in the eye, and said, “The pilot was seriously unhappy about coming back a second time. I almost had to force him at gunpoint. He didn’t do any of the pre-flight checks, and I don’t think he looked up the GPS reference you gave us on the map. I don’t know what he was thinking.

“Once we were in the air, there was nothing we could do except home in on the beacon. Russian helicopters are not fitted with GPS. The Russians always thought, making the Global Positioning System available to the public, was a trick to get them to use it, and then we would turn it off or spoof it whenever it was to our advantage.

“Ever tried to use a handheld GPS inside a helicopter? Well, I can tell you they don’t work. The locater beacon was our only way of finding you.”

Jackson knew the story. Let your emotions take over in a combat situation, and you might as well stick a gun to your head and pull the trigger. The spook deserved an explanation.

“We lost one of our packs and the terrorists must have turned the beacon on. We had turned on ours, but from the direction you were coming, the other beacon would have had a stronger signal.

“I knew there were two beacons broadcasting, but I couldn’t tell how far apart they were, and the pilot just wanted to get in and out as fast as possible.”

Jackson thought war was a balance between immediate decisive action and meticulous preparation, and knowing when each was appropriate often separated the living from the dead.

Twenty minutes later the helicopters were refueled and ready to go. Jackson climbed aboard with the rest of the men. Herb’s body had been removed. He presumed alternate transport arrangements had been made for it. The mood onboard the helicopter seemed lighter. The dead man had been an American but not one of them, a D man. Not only, were all the Delta Force returning from the mission, they had recovered two of their own.

A good day indeed.

Chapter 59

Chapter 57

2005-12-08T00:28:00.000-08:00

Mihail Kogalniceanu Military Air Base, Romania / Talish Mountains, Iran Azerbaijan border
April 14, 2006, 1400 Local Time

It had been twenty minutes since Richard had sent the commands disabling the tactical robots, and he still felt shaken by the experience of almost killing his friend. He had watched the images, from two of the robots, showing the masked and caped Jackson raise his rifle to his shoulder before the transmissions stopped. The last frame clearly showed the muzzle flash from the weapon.

Now the camera on the robot, stopped in the middle of the pass, had stopped transmitting. Jackson must have shot it out from an angle to avoid coming into view of the camera.

Richard had no way of telling him, they had shut the robot down, and it was no longer a threat. Jackson’s communications set transmitted and received encrypted messages. Even if they knew the frequency to transmit on, any message that wasn’t properly encrypted wouldn’t be heard, even as static.

Richard saw a clear logic to Jackson's destruction, and it was just a matter of discovering his purpose. It was like those puzzles his young nephew loved so much. A situation where there was an underlying reason for otherwise inexplicable events. 'A man in a strange costume, destroys the cameras on three robots, and the computer on the fourth. Why?'

Richard knew Jackson as an intelligent man who never did anything without a well-thought out reason. Jackson had a deliberate precision about his actions. Preprogrammed routines seemed to guide his actions; assess situation, decide response, execute response.

By the time Jackson come into view of the tactical robot whose cameras still functioned, Richard had solved the puzzle.

He wondered whether any of the other three watching the screen with him had the answer. He could tell them, but they were about to find out, and why spoil the drama of his friend's revelation.

The four watched in silence as Jackson removed his hood, poncho, and pack, followed by his combat vest and body armor, before pulling off a shirt made of the same material as the hood. He then put the body armor and combat vest back on.

Jackson then took a tube out of a pocket in his vest, and squeeze some of its contents onto his right index finger. He knelt, and seemed to be using his finger to write something on the shirt lying on the ground, before holding it up in front of the camera. It was hard to read the green letters against the camouflage colors of the material.

Fiona picked out the letters. “N, E, I can’t read the next letter or the one after that, then R, The next looks like an S and then and O.”

Charles interrupted, “I think the last letter is a Q.”

Captain Freedman said, “Need rescue. Why else would he take those risks?”

Jackson put the shirt down and held up his GPS to the camera. Captain Freedmen read off the coordinates, and wrote them down on a small note pad.

Jackson moved the GPS out of view, turned over the shirt, squeezed more of the green camouflage paint onto his finger, and again used it to write. When he had finished, he held the camouflage material in front of the camera. His letters were larger this time, and easier to read.

All three of them read the words separately. “Injured?” “Captured?”

“Why the question marks?”

“It means he doesn’t know or is unsure,” Freedman said.

Jackson put the material down, and folded it before putting it into his pack. He lifted the pack onto to his back, gave a slight wave of his hand, and walked away in the direction of Azerbaijan.

Captain Freedman addressed them. “You weren’t aware of this, but Sergeant Jackson was leading a mission to recover the missing aerial vehicle. It looks like that mission has run into trouble. I need to inform certain parties of what has happened here.

Chapter 58

Chapter 56

2005-12-07T23:10:00.000-08:00

Mihail Kogalniceanu Military Air Base, Romania / Talish Mountains, Iran Azerbaijan border
April 14, 2006, 1130 Local Time

Richard said, “Charles, call Captain Freedman, and tell him there is something he needs to see.”

“What’s happening?”

“I suggest you call Freedman first. He’s going to be pissed if he misses this.”

Charles put his curiosity to one side, and went to the white phone on the wall to tell the Captain he needed to come to the project room, immediately.

Charles completed the call, and went back to Richard.

“What's happening?”

“Look at this. This is live by the way. It’s TMR4 again.”

The screen showed an infrared image, and he could see three bright red points on the indistinct outline of a man’s head between solid blue shapes he recognized as rocks. The screen suddenly filled with a bright red flash.

“What was that?”

“That was someone firing a weapon. It’s the third shot I've seen. Our Batman impersonator is shooting up the robot. I wonder why?”

Charles thought the mystery man could be a Special Forces soldier, but that didn’t explain why he was on the pass, why he would take the risk of coming into view of MAADS, or why he would fire on the robot.

Fiona said, “You must come and see this. I missed it on the live feed, and just spotted it when I was reviewing the visual images. It happened about fifteen minutes ago. I’ve zoomed it up to the maximum, and this is a frame-by-frame.”

The screen showed the blurred image of a man moving in jerky slow-motion. He removed something from his head to reveal an indistinct face, looking directly up at the camera. All you could tell about the face, was the skin was dark, very dark. The man then replaced whatever had covered his head.

Charles thought you don’t find people with skin that color in the Caucasus region. The people were olive skinned Caucasians. That's where the word came from.

At that moment, Captain Freedman charged into the room. “What the hell is going on? You dragged me away from a very important call to Washington.”

Captain Freedman had been trying to find out the status of the the Delta Force-CIA mission. Nothing he had found out nothing indicated it hadn't gone to plan and consequently, the soldiers were well away from the MAADS system.

Charles knew he had to take control of the situation before Richard started pressing Freedman’s buttons. “Captain, the mystery man is shooting at one of the tactical robots.”

“Is it shooting back?”

“No, Captain. You have to realize robots don’t react like real soldiers. While shooting back would be an automatic reaction for a soldier, the tactical robot is completely unaware it is being shot at, if we can talk about a robot being aware or unaware. It shoots at images with specific characteristics, whether that image is shooting at the robot or not, is irrelevant.”

Charles could see, the Captain was no longer interested in what he was saying. His attention was focused on the sequence of images on the screen. It showed infrared flashes from gunshots at regular intervals.

Richard turned from the computer screen he was watching, and said, “The TMR’s computer is out.”

Captain Freedman asked, “What does that mean?”

“It means the robot can no longer move, fire its weapon, or move its cameras. All it can do is act as a static camera position, which is how we designed it.”

A short while later, Richard said, “It looks like our mystery man has stopped shooting.”

“Has the control unit sent the other robots in support?”

Richard answered, “The control unit is defending against infiltrators from the opposite direction. If our mystery man had come from Iran, then the control unit would send other robots as backup, but this tactical robot is purely defensive. From what I recall of the code, there is no provision to send another robot if it's incapacitated.”

Charles knew Richard thought his explanation perfectly logical, and Captain Freedmen thought it militarily idiotic because each operated in a different frame of reference. Richard thought of the robots as cheap disposable pieces of equipment whose loss or destruction was of minor consequence compared to solving the overall problem. Like chess pieces that you sacrificed to win the game. Whereas the Captain viewed them as both surrogate soldiers and valuable classified equipment whose preservation was a high priority. Charles had neither the time nor the energy to bridge the mutual misunderstanding.

The Captain continued his questioning. “Could he be trying to disable the robot before taking it?”

Richard replied, “It's too heavy for one person to carry, but why bother when you could buy one of the all-terrain-vehicles mail order. He might try to push it, an unlikely scenario in my opinion. I think our friend has something else in mind, like taking the computer.”

“I thought you said the computer was damaged and no longer functioning. Why would he want it?”

Richard turned to the Captain and started speaking in his ‘explaining really simple things to children’ tone of voice. “If he wanted the computer, he could also buy it mail order. What's valuable is the software, stored on two identical hard drives inside the computer. He only needs one of those to be undamaged, and he has hit the jackpot.

"Of course, when I refer to value, it is not in the usual context of an item in a commercial transaction where it is of approximately equal value to both parties. A copy of the software has no value to us because we can produce as many copies as we wish at zero cost. In contrast, the software may have substantial value to another party.”

Charles was familiar with Richard's tendency to intellectualize when under stress, and was about to cut him off, when he got back on topic.

“Hard drives are sealed units, and the fact the computer no longer functions tells me nothing about whether either of those hard drives is damaged. It's likely, at least one is still intact, and even if both are damaged, someone who knew what they were doing, like me for example, could almost certainly recover the data and software stored on the drive.”

Captain Freedman ignored Richard's largely incomprehensible explanation. “Can we bring up the other tactical robots to attack the gunman?”

“If you wait a moment, I will communicate your orders to them.”

Charles abruptly interrupted. His patience with Richard's aggressive sarcasm was wearing thin. “What Richard means is we can instruct the control unit to move the tactical robots to the same area as the gunman, where they will attack, if they recognize him as a target. However, their behavior is preprogrammed, and we can't direct the robots to fire on a specific target. If the robots see him, and he fits their predefined definition of a target, they will attack.”

Richard added, “And if he wasn’t wearing his party outfit.”

Charles continued, “Yes, the man’s outfit hides his thermal image, but a tactical robot seeing him from a different angle, or up close, may result in the robot recognizing the man as a target.

“Captain, we have just found out something else interesting.”

Captain Freedman ignored Charles, and spoke in his military command voice. “Bring the other robots up to the man’s location.”

“Are you sure?” Richard asked.

“That was an order.”

Charles said, “Captain, I think this man knows about MAADS and is acting the way he is for reasons we don’t understand.”

“Mr. Corrigan, you have already lost one part of this classified weapon to an enemy of the United States. I suggest to you that losing another would be negligence.”

Charles sighed audibly. “Richard, do as the Captain ordered.”

“I think we are making a big mistake.”

“Just do it!”

Richard turned back to his keyboard, and started typing commands for the MAADS control unit to relay to the tactical robots. Fiona looked anxiously at the three men, wanting to say she was sure the blurred image of the man’s face was familiar, but she was unwilling to enter the emotionally charged conflict between them.

***

Jackson moved around the rock, to a new position where he could see the robot, and, if its cameras were still capable of moving, be seen by it. The pair of cameras and the rifle were still directed at his previous position. Jackson thought ‘so far so good’. He got to his feet and cautiously made his way toward the robot, making sure he kept clear of the rifle's line-of-sight. The robot gave no indication it was still functioning.

When he reached the robot, the first thing he did was to remove the rifle’s magazine, and eject the round in the chamber. The trigger on the rifle had been replaced by an electrical firing mechanism, so he couldn’t pull the trigger to check the weapon was no longer loaded.

He wanted to keep the bulky hundred round magazine, but wasn't going to remove his poncho to put it in his pack. Armor piercing rounds capable of penetrating the robot's armor would have been better, but the extra regular ammunition might prove useful. He placed the magazine on the rock where he could access it quickly.

Jackson positioned himself in front of the robot’s cameras. He had no way of determining if the cameras still functioned. He hoped they did because this was the riskiest part of the whole operation.

He turned a full circle to confirm no other robots were in view, before removing his homemade hood.

The material stuck to his skin as he tried to remove it, and by the time he had the thing off his head, it looked like what it was, a cutup piece of camouflage material.

He felt a little foolish as he squatted down in front of the cameras, and of necessity almost directly in line with the rifle barrel, like someone posing for a photograph. He raised one hand, gave a little wave and mouthed ‘Hi guys’.

***

Richard watched the mystery figure start to remove the camouflage material from his head with a growing sense something was seriously wrong.

With the headgear removed, Richard instantly recognized Jackson’s face. Now his friend had removed his protection against the tactical robots, Richard had just sent to his location. As soon as they saw the hoodless Jackson, they would kill him.

Richard was on the edge of panic. He shouted, “It’s Jackson! The man is Jackson. That’s how he knew.”

Richard had already turned to his keyboard, and was frantically typing the commands to stop the tactical robots. He had to make an effort of will to slow down, and take care not to make mistakes that would only result in delay. Richard was shaking with the tension. He wanted to scream at Jackson ‘Putting the fucking hood back on you idiot.’

Richard hit the Enter key. A couple of seconds later he got an error message. “Fuck! Goddam!”

He would have to rekey the entire command.

***

It felt good not having that piece of high insulation material wrapped around his head.

Jackson took the tube of cammo cream from his vest pouch. It sucked as a writing tool, but it was the best he had. He looked around to make sure none of the robots were approaching, and caught a glimpse of something a hundred meters away that immediately disappeared from view. For several seconds, he wasn’t sure what he had seen, and then the robot reappeared, heading straight toward his position.

He dropped to the ground, and crawled to the far side of the disabled robot, wondering if there was a programmed restriction in the software to prevent one robot shooting at another. It seemed a faint hope.

At ten kilometers an hour, the robot would take less than thirty seconds to reach his position, and an unknown, but shorter, amount of time to get him in view. He dived around the robot, and grabbed his discarded hood. Back behind the cover of the disabled robot, he pulled the hood over his head, adjusting it, so he could see through the eyeholes. He felt the edges flapping in the breeze where the tape holding it together had come away.

He was just in time to see the robot come into view forty meters ahead of him. Its cameras were rotating and pointing to the right.

Jackson had his rifle up to shoulder firing three shots that ricocheted off the steel hood. If he ever got the opportunity to explain his actions, he would call those shots suppressive fire, even though he knew they would do nothing to stop the robot's advance. As a D man, he had years of training, conditioning him for immediate action in specific situations. Much of that training would be futile against robots. He needed to think through his actions.

Jackson held his fire, as the robot kept coming toward him, its cameras rotating around, then stopping and focusing on him, Jackson shot out the right-hand camera and then the left-hand one. He could see both smashed lenses through his rifle sight. He put another bullet in each to make sure.

The robot kept coming, as if nothing had happened, and the robot's rifle rotated around to point directly at him. Jackson found it chilling. It was like shooting a man in the face and then having him raise and aim his rifle at you.

His pulse raced from a combination of adrenaline and heat stress. Jackson forced himself to think. The robots navigated using internal maps, with minimal reliance on what they could see through their cameras. They were like blind men who found their way using memorized routes.

He realized there was nothing to stop the blind robot from firing at a memorized probable target. The robot kept coming straight toward him with its weapon pointed directly at him. Jackson had a sick feeling there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Then without warning, the robot stopped no more than two paces from his position, seemingly unable to decide what to do next.

Jackson felt a mental relief that his body didn't share. His peripheral vision was blurred and he knew he had been on the edge of panic - a raw primeval fear of the Dark Forces beyond human understanding. He had to deal with the situation rationally. He tried to put aside that he couldn't keep his thermal protection on much longer, or he would collapse from dehydration and heat stress.

His gut told him to disarm the robot directly in front of him. His brain told him it was more important to remain vigilant for more robots. Jackson tried to adjust the hood to give more visibility, and almost missed the robot that came in from his left. It suddenly appeared no more than ten meters away, or perhaps he just became aware of its presence.

The robot was stationary, with its weapon and camera pointed directly at him. The bulk of the disabled robot no longer hid him. He brought his rifle around, and ignoring the risk from ricocheting rounds, squeezed off two shots. Both missed because his left arm was shaking, and he could see the intact camera lenses through his riflesight. He stepped back and to the side, to stand behind the disabled robot. He dropped to one knee and rested his elbow on the robot's chassis. It lessened the effect of the shaking. He squeezed off two shots and saw the right-hand lens shatter. Two more shots broke the left-hand lens.

His pulse was pounding inside his head, and he desperately needed a drink of water. He strongly suspected, he was beginning to suffer from confusion and agitation, symptoms of dehydration and heat stress, two things Special Forces soldiers are taught to avoid at all costs.

He poured the last drops from his water bottle through the mouth hole. He was still very thirsty.

He tried to analyze his situation. There was another robot. Searching for it played into its strength – ambush from a concealed position, but time wasn't on his side. He pulled the half empty magazine from his M4, and inserted a full one.

Five minutes later, the robot hadn't appeared, and he wondered if it had got itself into a ‘TMR situation’, Richard’s euphemism for falling in a hole. His thirst was a constant distraction. His mouth and throat were so dry he could no longer swallow.

Jackson decided he had to establish the location of the remaining robot before he could risk removing his thermal hood. He would have to move quickly. He couldn’t keep the thermal suit on much longer.

If the robot had fallen in a hole, it would be almost impossible to find from the level ground. He had to climb the mountainside again to get a view down on the pass. As he walked across the flat rock surface toward the steep ground, he was shocked at how unsteady he was, like an old man or a drunk. It brought his precarious physical condition home to him.

He started to climb the steep rock face, only fifty meters from the first place he had climbed. The contrast in his physical condition was stark. Previously, he had scaled the rock without difficulty. This time it took all his strength to hold on, and pushing his body up with his thigh muscles seemed an effort almost beyond him. His hands and arms shook uncontrollably.

The climb exhausted his remaining reserves. He was at his physical limit, and could go no further. He turned to survey the pass, and nearly lost his balance when he saw the pitifully short distance he had climbed.

Jackson knew this was the end. He had stopped sweating, his pulse was racing, and he felt nauseous and dizzy; at the point of passing out, and falling down the rock face. He had to remove the thermal hood to have any chance of surviving past the few minutes before he physically collapsed.

His shaking hands felt like they were enclosed in thick gloves, as he tried to pull the hood off his head. If the robot had him in view, he would be dead before he knew the hood was off.

Eventually it came free, and he could see it in his hand before his mind registered it was off. He held it without moving for a moment that could be his last, before he shoved it into a vest pocket.

Jackson enjoyed the sensation of cool air on his skin, as he waited for the excess heat in his body to dissipate from his now unprotected head.

Wherever the last robot was, it didn't have him under observation. He turned back to view the pass and within seconds he found it. It was sitting out in the open, and not moving, less than fifty meters from the first robot he had disabled.

Perhaps, because he knew, with the hood removed, his body would start to cool down, he felt calm, and capable of rational analysis for first time in what seemed an extended period, but must have been only a few minutes.

Jackson inspected the robot through his monocular. It was motionless, and its cameras weren’t performing their normal 360-degree scan. He couldn't see the cameras. All he could see was the steel hood that protected them. The open end of the hood was at an angle to him, and he could just see its far side. A shot that hit inside the far edge of the hood should ricochet around inside the hood, but he needed a better angle.

A few minutes later, he was still terribly thirsty, but he no longer felt nauseous, and the shaking in his limbs had become a slight tremor. He began to slowly descend the short distance he had climbed, all the time watching the stationary robot for signs of movement. At the bottom, he found a trickle of water. He held his water bottle under it until there was enough for a couple of mouthfuls, and drank the ice cold water. He held the bottle under the trickle again, and half-filled it. He took a long drink before continuing.

He put the improvised hood, now in poor shape, back on his head, and walked toward the stationary robot's location. As it came into view, he could see the inside far edge of the steel hood.

Jackson put a dozen single shots into the gap between the near and far side of the hood. Some of the rounds would strike the inside of the steel, and ricochet back into the hood damaging the cameras.

When he inspected the robot through his monocular, he could see debris inside the hood. He moved closer, until he could see directly into the hood, and verify both cameras were destroyed.

Jackson made his way back toward the disabled robots. When they came into view, all three were in the same positions he had left them. He disarmed the second and third robots, and at last felt sufficiently safe to remove his headgear permanently. Jackson pulled off the hood, and put it into an empty ammunition pouch. He would keep it as a souvenir.

He found the tube of cammo cream he had dropped, tucked it into a pocket in his combat vest, and turned back toward the disabled robot. It was time to get his message out.

Chapter 57

Chapter 55

2005-12-07T21:03:00.000-08:00

Mihail Kogalniceanu Military Air Base, Romania
April 14, 2006, 1030 Local Time

“Charles, come and see this.”

Charles walked over to Richard who continued speaking. “You know how I like to watch the MAADS images.”

Charles was familiar with Richard's habit of viewing recorded images from all four robots, the control unit, and the aerial vehicle simultaneously on his computer screen, each in a separate window, and often while he was doing something else.

“This is about half an hour ago from TMR4 in MAADS system D. I'll zoom in for a better view. You see it now?”

“It’s a man.”

“It looks like a man in a bad camouflage version of a batman outfit. Now look at this infrared image.”

“Wow! It looks nothing like a man on the infrared.”

The screen showed the faint outline of a manlike head and torso shape topped by three points of intense red in a triangular pattern.

Richard said, “I think someone has found out how to defeat the MAADS targeting system.”

Charles didn’t relish telling Captain Freedman about another problem with MAADS.

“I have to tell the good Captain about this. Perhaps he can explain how a person with the knowledge to confound MAADS could be on the pass.”

Charles returned a couple of minutes later accompanied by Captain Freedman. “Richard, can you show Captain Freedman what you showed me. I also woke Fiona, and she is on her way.”

Captain Freedman watched in silence as Richard reran the two sets of images.

Charles said, “We think it could mean he knows how the MAADS targeting system works because he's using thermal masking to hide his infrared image. Any idea who that could be?”

Captain Freedman immediately thought of the Delta Force Sergeant who had seemed to know something about the technology, but the Delta Force soldiers should have completed their mission, and even then they should have been twenty kilometers away from the robots.

Before the Captain could reply, Richard interrupted, “I've found another image. This is a couple of minutes ago from the control unit’s camera.”

The screen showed the caped and hooded man standing on the mountainside. He appeared to be searching with a small scope.

Charles asked, “Is he still in view?”

“No. Just after this, the man climbed back down, and he's now out of sight.”

Captain Freeman rose and said, “I need to find out if anyone knows anything about this. Call me immediately if the man comes back into view of any of the units.”

Captain Freeman left the room just as Fiona arrived.

Charles asked, “What do you think, Richard?”

“I think it’s unlikely to be someone who got lost on their way to a fancy dress party. It has to be someone who knows how MAADS works.”

“I agree. Show the images to Fiona.”

Charles asked, “Fiona, can you get the System B aerial vehicle to search the Azerbaijan side of the pass for any other people.”

“It's patrolling several kilometer into Iran at the moment. It will take a few minutes to reposition it.”

***

Jackson had decided to target the first tactical robot. Some large rocks should allow him to approach unseen to within twenty meters of the robot. He began to walk toward the rocks keeping to the lowest route he could find.

He traveled across bare rock with gouge marks in it, as if someone had removed the vegetation and soil with a bulldozer, and then washed the surface clean. When he reached the rocks, he got down on the ground and started inching forward on his stomach, ensuring he exposed as little of his head as possible.

When the top of the robot came into view, he pulled back out and looked for a good shooting position. There was a notch in the rock a short distance to his left, and he moved sideways toward it. The physical exertion and mental tension were making him sweat profusely inside his thermal suit. Sweat was running into his eyes and obscuring his vision. What had been until now, just physical discomfit, was starting to become physical distress. His body was telling him, the heat and loss of fluids was becoming a real problem.

He stopped to think. Without the aerial vehicle, the control unit didn’t know where he was, and the robots only moved, on instructions from the control unit. The other tactical robots and the control unit were far enough away not to pose a threat. A few minutes without the hood behind the protection of the rocks should allow him to cool down.

He carefully removed the hood, and lay back against the rock. It felt good not to have that thing over his head. He looked up at the clear blue sky and directly above, was an aerial vehicle. The shock of the sight nearly made him jump to his feet to see if the robots were coming toward him.
A reaction that may well have gotten him killed as the robot behind the rock would have seen him without his hood. He pulled the hood back on, even though it would make no difference to the aerial vehicle’s ability to track him as a target.

Jackson tried to calm himself and think. He took out his monocular, and lay back against the rock. It was definitely a MAADS aerial vehicle with those distinctive fans on each side of its body. Where had it come from?

They couldn't have deployed another MAADS system, despite what the Ranger Captain had told him, because only four existed. Sammy had explained to him that while they talked about recovery of a deployed system and immediate redeployment, it was something they could potentially do, but currently, redeployment wasn't a practical proposition without taking the system back to the labs for testing and repacking.

Jackson put the fear there were two systems, and consequently eight tactical robots on the pass, out of his mind. The aerial vehicle must be the one that had tracked the terrorists over the secondary pass, and the MAADS team had found a way to link it up the MAADS system that was already here.

He had been gaining confidence, his plan would succeed, and he had the risks under control, but now, being out of sight of the robots no longer meant being safe.

Jackson sat against the rock and reviewed his options. He concluded his original plan still had a better chance of success than getting an injured Pasco over the mountains, even if it meant keeping his thermal suit on longer, and remaining prepared to take on the other robots.

His position on the rocks gave him a good field of view toward the border with Iran, the direction the robots would come from. His position wasn't protected, but a conventional protected position was no use against an enemy, that if you exposed enough of your head to aim a rifle, would shoot you literally between the eyes. If his thermal masking failed to fool the robots, he would in all likelihood be dead before he found out.

He stayed seated with his rifle up to his shoulder and waited. When he tipped his head back to check on the aerial vehicle, it wasn't there. Jackson didn't know what that signified.

Ten minutes later, keeping still had helped him cool down to the point where he was sweating only moderately, although he still had an urgent thirst. The waterfall kept coming to mind, clear cold water, as much as you could drink. He imagined standing under it, the icy water quenching his thirst, cooling his body, and washing the sweat away.

He brought himself back to the reality of his position, by forcing a vision of the robots waiting in ambush for him around the waterfall.

He looked into the sky, and could make out the aerial vehicle, well over a kilometer away, down the valley that led into Azerbaijan. For some inexplicable reason it had lost interest in him.

If the robots were coming, they should have reached his position by now. The aerial vehicle leaving and the robots not arriving, persuaded him he could continue with his plan.

He moved sideways across the rock, and found the notch provided a good view of the rear half of the robot. The cameras stopped their scan and pointed directly at him. The two lenses were the obvious vulnerable point on the robot and he could shoot out both without difficulty, but that would defeat his purpose in being here. He dropped down out of sight behind the rock.

He removed the magazine from his rifle, and ejected the round in the chamber. He then took the single magazine he had of armor piercing rounds, inserted it into the rifle, and chambered a round. He moved back up to where he could see the robot, and moved his rifle into position. The cameras once again stopped moving and pointed directly at him.

He centered the rifle's sight on the steel box attached to the rear of the ATV chassis. He squeezed off one shot, then a second. The cameras kept pointing directly at him, and the robot gave no indication it was under attack. There was something unnerving about the robot's lack of response. He resisted turning around to see if anything was approaching him from the rear.

He continued to put armor piercing rounds into the armored box until the magazine was empty. The cameras didn’t move.

Chapter 56

Chapter 54

2005-12-07T20:13:00.000-08:00

A high valley in the Talish Mountains, Azerbaijan
April 14, 2006, 0800 Local Time

On his way up the trail in the warm spring sunshine, Jackson worked systematically through possible avenues of attack on MAADS. His objective was to disable the weapon on one of the tactical robots, or the control unit, without damaging the cameras or the robot's communications capability.

The obvious vulnerability was the infrared camera. Knock it out, and the targeting system no longer functioned. It sounded simple, but he had to be certain which camera was infrared. Jackson had watched Sammy attach the cameras to several of the rotating platforms, and he had put the infrared camera on the right each time, but did Sammy always put the infrared camera on the right?

He also needed to be certain, only infrared was used for targeting. He knew the targeting software was based on earlier software that used visual images to target. If any of that programming was still in the system, then just knocking out the infrared camera would get him killed.

Destroying both cameras solved these difficulties, but he needed the visual image camera intact. He would have to find another avenue of attack.

Whether an unarmed man could safely approach one of the tactical robots, depended on the threat level setting. When Richard had first asked him to define when a man could be categorized as threatening or nonthreatening, he had to explain to them it depended on the context. In most circumstances, an unarmed man would be considered non-threatening and not targeted, but in some circumstances he would. A man clearly advancing on his position in a combat zone would be a legitimate target. Even an apparently unarmed man could pose a threat, as a yesterday's suicide bomber had shown.

If the MAADS threat level was set to medium then an unarmed man could approach some way toward a tactical robot, and if he was sure of the setting, then this would be a way to get the MAADS team's attention.

If the threat level was set to high then any person was a target and being unarmed wouldn't protect you. The high threat level was intended for special circumstances such as when weapons, MAADS didn't recognize were being used. The loss of the aerial vehicle may well have resulted in the threat level being set to high. Jackson couldn't think of a way of finding out that didn't risk getting him killed.

Jackson thought back over the design meetings he attended so reluctantly, and wished he had paid more attention to the engineering and software design details.

He recalled an exchange with Richard, who wanted to know the Army's criteria for a legitimate target. Jackson explained that while there were rules of engagement that delineated the circumstances under which a force could initiate combat, it always came down to, did the individual soldier on the ground believe someone was a clear or imminent threat. It was called the individual self-defense principle. It allowed a soldier to use all available means, and take all appropriate action, to defend themselves and other personnel. The rules couldn't be defined ahead of time. It was a split-second assessment by an individual soldier.

Richard had turned to him, and said, 'Not only, can we establish rules ahead of time determining who is a target and who is not, we must establish the rules. Robots are capable of independent action only to the extent we program very precise rules into them defining the actions to be taken, and the circumstances in which to take them.'

It had been a lightbulb moment for Jackson. He saw clearly, for the first time, that robots had no freedom of action. They would do precisely what someone, months or years earlier, had decided they should do.

He had spent a lot of time after that day, trying to figure out what the rules should be. It was a much harder problem than he anticipated. Grenades posed particular difficulties. They were hard to recognize, and easy to hide. He had concluded there was no defense against an otherwise unarmed man intent on throwing grenades, unless you allowed killing of unarmed men, and this was a factor in the decision to armor vulnerable points on the robots. Although once someone did throw anything grenade-like, they wouldn't last long, as MAADS would immediately promote them to the target category. Using grenades would be unlikely to disable a tactical robot, and highly likely to get him killed.

Jackson continued working through possible avenues of attack. One design meeting he had attended came to mind where they discussed how the wireless network could be integrated into the MAADS units. He recalled the discussion was about whether the wireless network adapter should be attached to the unit’s main computer or not.

Most people in the meeting seemed to be in favor of attaching it to the computer because that was the way most computers worked. Richard was strongly against the proposal, and he recalled him saying, ‘Don’t couple things, you don’t have to couple.’ Jackson didn’t follow the technicalities of the argument, but he did remember Richard maintained that keeping the network adapter separate made the system more robust. Computer failure would not result in losing the network, and consequently the visual and infrared images.

Jackson thought Richard had won the argument, he usually did, but at the time it didn’t matter. Now it did. If the network went through the computer, then damaging the computer to disable the weapon, would also cut the tactical robot's ability to communicate, and his image wouldn't be transmitted.

The computer would be a bigger and easier target than the only other ways he could think of disabling the weapon. One was to hit one of the two small electric motors that moved the weapon, but he couldn’t recall if they were even visible. Never mind, where they were located. The other was to damage the weapon itself. Inherently risky because he could not be certain he had disabled the weapon, and he would find out he was wrong, the instant it shot him.

Damaging the computer or the motor would produce a visual confirmation, the weapon had been disabled because it would no longer move. If there was any doubt in his mind, then all he had to do was to avoid standing directly in front of the weapon.

He was fortunate, the MAADS system no longer had an aerial vehicle because it would have made everything much harder. The aerial vehicle was not a direct threat because it was unarmed, but it was how MAADS knew where to position its infantry, the tactical robots. MAADS could spot him from the air, and then send the tactical robots against him in a coordinate operation.

He switched on the comms set.

“Pasco can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“I’ve been reviewing my tactics, and this may take longer than I originally thought, perhaps until tomorrow.”

“Roger.”

“Any action down there?

“It's quiet here.”

“Over and out.”

“Good luck, man.”

As he made his way up the valley in the warm spring sunshine, Jackson continued to think through the possible ways he could attack MAADS.

40 mm grenades were a possible way of taking out the control unit, but he had used all his rifle grenades dealing with the RPG shooter. Even if he had the grenades, it risked destroying the data network hub or the satellite communications equipment, which would stop his picture being transmitted. And without an aerial vehicle, the control unit didn't represent the same threat. He mentally crossed the control unit off as a target.

He checked in twice more with Pasco, but the third time he tried, there was no response, and he must have gone out of range. He was on his own now.

An hour and a half later, his GPS told him he was just over a kilometer from the pass. Jackson didn’t trust the accuracy of the map to go any further without preparing. He stopped at a place with good visibility in both directions, took a long drink of the chemical tasting water, and started to take the things he needed from the pack.

The first thing was the survival blanket. He laid it flat on the ground, took out his knife, and cut it into two pieces. He took the smaller piece, and cut two small holes about a third of the way above the line where he had cut the blanket in two. He lifted the piece up to his face to determine if he could see through the holes he had cut. He decided the holes needed to be larger and further apart. He cut around the outer edge of both holes, and again raised it to his face. The view was much better, but he decided to cut the holes larger still. He needed maximum visibility.

Jackson considered whether he should cut a hole for his nose and another for his mouth. The mouth hole he didn’t need. He wouldn’t be doing any eating or drinking. However, a hole for his nose would make breathing easier. He decided to cut a small one. He cut a slit on each side of the piece of cloth, and tried it on for size.

He positioned the material over his head, for a final check of visibility through the eyeholes, before laying the material on the ground. He took out the roll of gaff tape, and cut eight strips. Jackson used four to tape the back and the front flaps together producing something like a hood. He tried it on for size, and decided it was close enough for this stage of the process. He took the material off his head, and commenced the second stage of his homemade thermal poncho.

Jackson took the larger piece of the survival blanket, and cut a hand-sized hole in the center. He then pulled it over his head. He had to pull hard to get his head through the hole, and once it was on, there was no reason to remove it. He checked the material for length. It came down to his knees. On the sides, it reached below his elbows. If anything, it was too long, but further adjustments would just delay him.

Jackson took off his jacket, combat vest, and body armor, and then put the body armor back on with the survival blanket underneath. He pulled the front and back parts of the blanket, such that they overlapped on both sides of his body, and then closed his body armor to keep the improvised thermal poncho in place. He checked it didn’t restrict his arm movements.

He took another long drink of water, put a large piece of dried beef in his mouth, and began to chew on it. It tasted good. He tried not to think about it being his last meal, as he pulled the smaller piece of the survival blanket over his head, and adjusted its position to get maximum visibility through the eyeholes. Jackson wrapped the remaining strips of gaff tape around his neck to hold it in place.

He put his combat vest back on. The jacket he put in Pasco’s pack, before lifting the pack onto his back. Finally, he put Pasco's poncho over the top. He thought the outfit would do enough to hide his infrared image. The pack would help the air circulate between the survival blanket and the poncho. He was already feeling uncomfortably warm. It was time to get this done.
Jackson started back up the trail, and wondered what anyone who saw him would think. He must be a very strange sight.

Again he thought, he was fortunate there was no aerial vehicle, because his outfit would be unlikely to fool it. That was not its purpose. It was intended to fool the tactical robot and control unit’s infrared targeting system.

Ten minutes later, he was sweating copiously under the high insulation survival blanket. His forward visibility was good, but trying to look to the side or overhead just resulted in his head moving, while the hood stayed in place. In order to see to the side, he had to move his whole body, and he had no way of seeing what was overhead, short of lying on his back. He resisted the temptation to confirm there were no strange birds in the sky.

Jackson checked his GPS. If the map was right, the summit of the pass, and the international border, was five hundred meters ahead. The valley was broadening out, and the trail’s incline lessening. He could see well over a hundred meters ahead of him.

It was hot under the hood. He used his left hand to rub some sweat out of his eyes. It helped a little. When he looked up, he saw a momentary reflection from something ahead and to his right. If that was a tactical robot, then the fact he was still alive was conclusive proof his thermal masking outfit worked, at least at this distance.

Jackson took out the small monocular scope he used to perform visual surveys, and slowly raised it to his eye. It didn’t take him long to find the source of the reflection. He could clearly see the top third of a tactical robot eighty meters away. Its cameras and weapon pointed directly at him.

MAADS should have positioned three of its tactical robots on the Iranian side of the pass, and only a single robot would be on this side of the pass. He should be able to maneuver around it. The robot would only move from its current position if the aerial vehicle spotted him. As there was no aerial vehicle, all the robots should stay in their current positions.

Jackson tried to put aside the nagging feeling he was missing some crucial element. The MAADS team could direct the behavior of the MAADS system, and to an extent the individual units, but would only do so in response to an identifiable problem. His thermal suit should make the robots ignore him because he didn't fit their preprogrammed definition of a person. He would be distant and indistinct on the transmitted images, and in all likelihood, the people monitoring MAADS wouldn't even notice him until he got close to a robot.

Jackson started to move to his left, while keeping the robot in view through his scope, but there was too much risk of him stumbling and falling, and he reluctantly turned away from the robot in order to see where he was going. He felt the sweat running down his neck and back.

He kept turning his body around to see if the robot had moved, but each time he looked it was in the same place. As he got further away, the cameras started to perform their normal 360 degree scan, and didn't even pause to look in his direction. He was almost at the maximum range of the search software, and began to feel he had successfully cleared his first hurdle.

The slope got steeper as he got closer to the mountainside. Jackson began to climb up the rock face, and it didn’t take him long to get high enough for the next stage of his plan. He found a place where he could stand without needing to use his hands to keep from falling, and began to search the pass trying to locate the control unit and the other tactical robots. He couldn’t see them, so he started a methodical survey with his monocular.

Fifteen minutes later, he concluded the control unit and the other tactical robots were not in view of his current position. He inspected the robot he had located through his rifle's telescopic sight. It was still in the same position, with its cameras performing their normal 360-degree scan. The bottom half of the robot, where the computer was located, was hidden from view. He could see the part of the rotating assembly where he thought the small electric motors were, but the robot was close to maximum range for the short-barreled M4, and he wasn't confident he was right about the motor's location.

He decided to observe the pass for thirty minutes to see if anything changed. The sun was now well over the mountains on the opposite southern side of the pass and beat down on the rocks around him. Ten minutes later, the sweat running down inside of his thermal suit had soaked the lower half of his body.

Jackson was thirsty and needed a drink. Risking dehydration was not a good idea. It meant he would have to cut a hole in his hood to drink through. He did it reluctantly because it would make his head’s infrared image more like a face. He took out his knife, and cut a small slit. He tilted his head back, and poured water into the slit. Most of the water made it into his mouth.

As Jackson climbed back down the mountainside, He debated whether finding the control unit and the other robots was worth the risk. His training had taught him, time spent in reconnaissance was rarely wasted, and he didn’t want to risk another MAADS unit seeing him, as he maneuvered into position against the robot he planned to attack. He decided to have another attempt at finding them.

When he reached the point where the slope leveled out, he made his way along the base of the mountains, occasionally negotiating rocky outcrops. On the way, he kept a lookout for the other tactical robots, but was sure, if one were on his route, he would have seen it in his earlier survey.
After two hundred and fifty meters, he judged he was at the high point of the pass. Ahead, a waterfall cascaded down the mountainside. Jackson again climbed the rock face. When he was high enough, he found a place to stand, and turned to view the pass.

He saw the control unit immediately, almost directly opposite him, on the far side of the pass. He began to inspect it with his monocular, as the control unit’s cameras stopped to inspect him. While he was probably in range of the infrared targeting software, he knew it would only be activated, after the search software positively identified him as a target.

He commenced a survey of the area he could see. Finding one of the robots forty meters from the control unit surprised him. It was where he would position a tactical robot to protect the control unit. Up until that point, everything had fit what he knew of how MAADS worked, and he was confident he could predict how it would behave. The position of the robot implied some new factor at work.

Twenty minutes later he was sure the other two tactical robots were not in view, which meant they were sufficiently far away to pose no risk to what he planned.

Chapter 55

Chapter 53

2005-12-07T20:05:00.000-08:00

Near the village of Soosin, Azerbaijan
April 14, 2006, 0000 Local Time

Jackson called into his mike, “Eagle Two, come in. Eagle Two, come in.”

There was no response.

He switched to the local net. “Pasco, did you see that?”

“I saw it go down. Man, what do we do now?”

“Pasco, come up to my position we need to evaluate our options.”

“I’m coming.”

It took several minutes for Pasco to reach him. He used the time trying to get a response on the CIA communication frequency. When Pasco arrived at his position, he pointed to a place where he could sit, and take the weight off his ankle.

Jackson said, “I’m not getting a response on the CIA channel. All three of the people we talked to are dead or captured. We don’t know if or when anyone else will listen in. I'll keep trying, but we should assume we are not going to get a response. I'm afraid we are on our own.”

Jackson continued, “The CIA must have ignored the GPS location I gave them, and homed in on the locater beacon. The terrorist must have found and activated the beacon in my pack.”
Jackson wasn’t going to dwell on whether the CIA’s modification resulted in the deaths of two of their operatives.

“If anyone survived the crash, then they have already been captured, and are being taken to the village. Any rescue attempt we might try would be a suicide mission. We can be the most help to them by figuring a way out of here.”

Pasco responded, “Except, we don’t have a way out of here. One way leads to a village full of fired-up terrorists. The second way leads to Iran. The third way, over the mountains into the next valley, may well be to a pickup location with no pickup and more fired-up terrorists, now all the CIA operatives we know about are dead or captured. I doubt I could make the trip with my ankle over those mountains, and even if I could, if we ran into bad guys, I couldn’t evade capture. I don’t like any of our options.”

Jackson sat in silence for several minutes before saying. “We have another option. I can’t tell you too much because it's classified, but the mechanical bird came from a military robot system positioned at the head of this valley, on the border with Iran. If I can get close enough to one of the robots, the people monitoring the robot’s cameras will recognize me, and send in a rescue mission.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It would be, if we still had one of those IFFs. Without an IFF, there are some problems I have to solve before I can get close enough to one of the robots for them to see me. But if anyone can solve those problems, I can.

“First, we need to get back to the top of this cliff, and get some rest.”

Jackson found the easy climb tiring, as lack of sleep, combined with the adrenaline charged hours, to take its toll on his body. He hoped Pasco could manage the climb without his help because he doubted he could carry him.

It was three hours before dawn when Pasco finally made it to the top. Jackson had carefully surveyed the valley, and there was no one between the location of the downed helicopter and their position.

He told Pasco to keep watch. He felt exhausted, and just needed to get his head down and sleep. Jackson lay down on the rock, and was asleep almost immediately.

He awoke to bright sunlight. Pasco was asleep in a sitting position. Jackson surveyed the valley and the trail up the cliff. There was no one in sight.

Jackson let Pasco sleep, and took an MRE out of Pasco’s pack. It was hamburger, one of his favorites, although he was hungry enough to eat anything. Pasco was one of those who took out the heater pack in the MRE to save weight. He ate the meal, and then drank the coffee, cold.

When he had finished the meal, he was still hungry. The previous night’s activities would have burned off thousands of calories, and his body was telling him, it wanted them replaced. He resisted the temptation to open a second MRE, as they needed to conserve their resources. Instead, he took a handful of peanuts out of the pouch, he habitually filled before a mission. He liked to chew on them during periods spent waiting for something to happen. If he were still hungry in a half hour, he would have another cup of cold instant coffee. He knew Pasco wasn’t much of a coffee drinker.

Jackson took the map out of a pocket in the vest he wore over his body armor. The pass was fifteen klicks from their current position. Even uphill, he was fit enough to make the distance in not much more than two hours.

He carefully explored the site of the wound on his rear with his fingers. Yesterday's pain had subsided to a dull ache. He thought he could feel a fragment of something embedded in the fatty tissue. He decided a sliver of metal in his butt was the least of his problems.

The next thing he needed to do was to inventory their gear, and figure out what to take with him and what to leave with Pasco. He could have woken Pasco, and asked him to list the contents of his pack, but he wanted to confirm the contents himself, and Pasco needed as much sleep as possible.

Jackson took the items one at a time from the pack, and placed them on the bare rock. There was everything he expected to find in a D man’s pack, and a few extras. Everyone carried additional items according to their preferences. Like many D men, Pasco carried extra ammo, but there were no more M203 grenades.

He found two items that would prove invaluable, a high insulation survival blanket and a small roll of gaff tape. Regular duct tape would do just as well, and might be better for his purposes than the non-reflective gaff tape. He was hoping to find the survival blanket, many D men carried one to help keep warm when manning an observation post, but the tape was a real bonus.

He found a bag of dried beef. More food was good, but better would have been two water bottles. Unfortunately, Pasco had only one. That might be a problem.

Pasco woke. “Hey man! What are you doing in my stuff?”

“I'm just taking an inventory. I thought I’d let you sleep.”

“I'm hungry. Give me one of those MREs.”

“Which one?”

“The hamburger, I’ve been saving it.”

“Sorry man, I ate it.”

“You SOB! Give me the macaroni instead.”

Jackson picked out the Macaroni Cheese MRE, and tossed it across to Pasco who caught it, took out his knife and spoon, cut the top off the main meal package, and commenced spooning the contents into his mouth.

Jackson couldn’t give Pasco the details of his plan without passing on classified information, so he restricted himself to a general outline.

“I'm going up this valley to the pass, where I should find the robots. It will take me two hours to get there, and then I have to disable at least one of the robots before I can show myself. I don’t know how long that will take, but if it takes longer than four or five hours, then I am probably in trouble. Two hours to come back down, and I should be back before dusk. If I'm not back by dusk tomorrow, you should assume I’m not coming back, and try to get out on foot. I expect, in a couple of days, your ankle will be OK to walk on.

“Our radios should work for a few kilometers in these mountains, and I’ll check in every half hour.

I’m going to need some of your gear; most of the ammo, I’ll leave you with two magazines, two of the regular and two of the mini-grenades, I also need your poncho, the survival blanket, the gaff tape, and your water bottle.”

“First you eat my hamburger, then you take all my stuff. Some buddy you turned out to be.”

Jackson recognized this, for what it was, good-natured banter.

“I found your stash.”

“You mean my stove and fuel?”

“And the tea and soup powder.”

“Nothing like hot tea and soup during long nights on Ops.”

“And against regulations.”

“Hot tea?”

“No! Using C4 as fuel for the stove.”

“Burns much hotter than hexamine. The Brits taught me that trick.”

“Then I suggest we use it. Hot coffee would do wonders for my mood.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Jackson took the stove, C4, and coffee over to Pasco, who quickly produced hot coffee for Jackson and hot tea for himself.

That used up the last of the water in the canteen, and Jackson walked a dozen steps to the river’s edge to refill it. A water-sterilizing tablet would fix any nasty bugs.

When he returned, he said to Pasco. “If you need water, you can get it from the river. The water looks clean, but make sure you boil it for ten minutes. My advice is not to put any weight on that ankle of yours. Just let it heal.”

“I know the drill.”

Jackson started to put the items, he was taking with him, back into Pasco’s pack.

“I’ll trade you peanuts for some of that dried beef.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a trade, but I never argue with a man who has more firepower than me. Go ahead and help yourself.”

Jackson took some of the dried beef, and replaced it with a couple of handfuls of peanuts.

“Wish me luck.”

“Break a leg.”

Jackson turned away from Pasco, and started up the trail. A MAADS system on the pass meant he was unlikely to encounter hostiles on the way, but he still exercised caution at any point he couldn’t see well ahead on the trail. In normal circumstances, he wouldn’t use the trail at all, but he needed to move quickly, to have as much time as possible in daylight. MAADS had too much of an advantage at night.

As he made his way up the trail, he thought he was about to become the first man in the history of warfare to knowingly go into combat against robots, not bad for a kid from South Dallas. He hoped he lived to tell his grandchildren about it.

Chapter 54

Chapter 52

2005-12-07T19:50:00.000-08:00

Near the village of Soosin, Azerbaijan
April 13, 2006, 2345 Local Time

Their position, seventy or eighty meters above the valley below, gave an uninterrupted view as far as the ridge. He could see the two men who had left the grove of trees, and had now stopped where Herb’s body lay.

He could see a larger group of men, further away, almost at the ridge, too far away to interfere with the helicopter when it landed. Jackson thought how being able to see where all the men were on the battlefield was a huge tactical advantage. His recent encounter in the stream could easily have turned disastrous because he didn’t know where the enemy was.

Now his problem was, he knew where his enemy was, but he didn’t have a weapon with sufficient range to reach him. If the enemy was armed with a Kalashnikov, it had a similar range to the M4 he was carrying. Judging by how he handled the RPG, the enemy was a pro who knew what he was doing. Going down into the valley to get close enough to take out the two men with rifle fire was a close to equal match, and Jackson didn’t like those odds one bit.

He thought back to when Charles asked him how they should arm MAADS, and he had run through tactical scenarios in his mind, trying to exploit the MAADS system’s advantages, and minimize its weaknesses.

One possibility he had considered was to use the aerial vehicle’s overhead view to target indirect fire weapons. Indirect fire is not accurate enough against a specific target without some kind of automated targeting system. However, if you had a spotter who could see down onto the battlefield, you could walk your rounds onto the target.

He turned to Pasco. “How many 40 mm grenades do you have?”

“Six, all high explosive.”

Jackson had two. The rest had been in his pack. Eight might be enough for what he planned.

“Give them to me, and we need to swap rifles. This one doesn’t have a grenade launcher.”

“Pasco, I’m going down to take out the RPG shooter. I might be able to close with him without him seeing me, but he must have night vision equipment. There's no way he could be so accurate without it.”

“I’m going to go straight at him. Let me know if he does anything that indicates he has seen me. This is what I need you to do.”

Jackson explained his plan, and Pasco’s role in it.

“I understand. Be careful.”

Going straight at your enemy was risky. The tactic was intended to deprive him of the opportunity to consider his options, and force him to act. Often it resulted in hesitation, and failure to act, giving the advantage to the aggressor. The best case was the enemy panicked and ran.

As he prepared himself, it occurred to him his tactic had no chance of working against robots. A robot was incapable of panic, and nothing would divert it from its preprogrammed actions.

Jackson followed the trail down the steep cliff to the valley below. With Pasco spotting for him, he could be more aggressive and less reliant on stealth.

“Pasco, what’s our shooter doing?”

“Both men are moving directly toward our position.”

“Pasco, I’m on my way.”

“Roger. I’m looking out for you.”

Jackson started at a run, with Pasco's rifle up against his shoulder, ready to fire if he encountered any enemy on the way. He didn’t know if the two men were just armed with the RPG, or if they had rifles as well. It didn’t matter because he didn’t intend getting within range of either weapon.

Forty-five seconds later, he heard Pasco. “It looks like they have seen you. Both men have stopped. I estimate you are just over four hundred meters from their position.”

Slightly less than four hundred meters was the correct range for what he planned. Jackson kept going. He wasn’t going to catch them by surprise or make them panic. No matter, all he needed was the men down on the ground, and not shooting at him. They might get lucky even at this range.

Another thirty meters, and he dropped to one knee, panting from the exertion of the run.

Pasco said, “The two men are on the ground. No sign of any more men.”

Jackson took out one of the rifle grenades, pulled the grenade launcher’s barrel forward to open the chamber, and placed the grenade inside. He pulled the barrel back, and felt the click as it locked in place. He raised the rifle to his shoulder, and set the quadrant sight for the maximum four hundred meter range.

He couldn’t see the men, and as he aimed at the horizon in the direction he thought they were, he memorized the point he could see in his sights. A computer would be able to measure and recall the direction and elevation with complete precision, whereas he could only approximate. He pulled the trigger, and just over a second later saw and heard the grenade explode in the distance.

Pasco came on. “Twenty meters long and twenty-five meters right.”

Jackson pulled the barrel forward to eject the spent grenade, took out a second rifle grenade, and loaded it into the chamber. He aimed at the same point on the horizon as the first shot, adjusted the sight down by twenty meters, and made a slight adjustment in his aim to the left. Again, he tried to memorize his exact aim point on the horizon before firing the grenade.

As the grenade exploded in the distance, Pasco spoke through his headset. “The line was good, maybe two or three meters right, and ten meters short. The men are still the same location.”

He took out another grenade, placed it in the launcher, and went through the same sequence of aiming the rifle at the exact point on the horizon as the previous shot, then adjusting the sight up slightly. He pulled the trigger.

“Three or four meters right, but the length was good. That must have shook them up.”

Jackson knew, the precision, or rather imprecision, of the method required he keep his body in the same position each time he fired. He loaded a new grenade, aimed at what he recalled as the same point on the horizon as the previous shot, and pulled the trigger.

“That was five meters long and two meters left.”

He loaded the next grenade into the launcher, sighted on the same point as the previous shot, adjusted the sight down the slightest amount possible, and shifted his aim almost imperceptibly to the right. The change was so small he wasn't sure he had even made one. He again memorized the point on the horizon he could see in his sight, and pulled the trigger.

“I’d call that an eagle. You were exactly on line and perhaps two meters short. You are getting good at this, man.”

He went through the same procedure with his third from last grenade. He didn’t adjust the sight, but corrected his aim by the slightest amount he possibly could, and then fired.

“A hole-in-one my friend. Your grenade hit exactly between the two men. One of them is lying still. The other is still moving.”

Jackson fired another grenade at the exact same point on the horizon with the same slight adjustment in relation to the sight as the previous shot.

“Another hole in one. That one was right on top of the previous one. Both men are lying on the ground and not moving.”

Jackson thought he should make sure, and fired his last grenade at the same sighting.

“That was five meters long and two meters right. Both men are lying still in the same position. I think you were just lucky, with those two previous shots. I guess they won't be writing a new chapter in the Army’s Small Unit Tactics Manual after all.”

Jackson relaxed to let the tension out his body. He wasn't sure how much of his shooting was due to luck, but thought he had found a very effective tactic for robots that had aerial surveillance.

“I’m going forward to confirm they are dead. Keep watch for me, Pasco.”

“Will do.”

Jackson stood, put the rifle to his shoulder, and walked forward to where the two men lay. When he reached them, he confirmed both were dead. They had an oriental look to them, maybe Uzbeks or Uighurs.

He picked up the RPG launcher. It had a type of sight he had never seen before. He pulled up his night vision goggles and looked through the sight. The characteristic green glow of a first generation infrared image bathed the landscape. He sighted Pasco’s position on the cliff, and could just make out a faint glow.

That answered one question. The RPG shooter didn’t have night vision. He had an infrared scope. Jackson took the RPG launcher as another item for Delta Force’s weapons collection.

“Both men are dead. I’m coming back.”

“Roger. There is no one else between here and the ridge.”

It was time to call in the helicopter. Jackson switched to the CIA channel.

“This is Eagle One. Come in.”

“This is Eagle Two. We hear you.”

“LZ at GPS position North 3781.7, East 4869.1 is clear. We are waiting for extraction.”

“We are on our way.”

He switched back to the local net. “Pasco, I’ve called in the chopper. Stay in position until I get back.”

“Roger. No hostiles in view.”

Jackson jogged toward Pasco’s position on the cliff. When he reached the base of the cliff, he climbed a third of the way up, and found a position to keep watch.

“Pasco, I'm in position. You can come down.”

“I’m on my way.”

It took Pasco almost ten minutes to reach Jackson’s position. He was moving with difficulty as he tried to avoid placing any weight on his damaged ankle.

“It's funny how climbing down hurts a lot more than climbing up did.”

“It's almost over my friend. The chopper will be here in five.”

Jackson decided he would wait in his current position until the helicopter landed. He saw Pasco reach the valley floor. The view wasn’t as good as at the top of the cliff but he still had a clear view for at least a kilometer. He though he could see a group of men in the distance, almost at the ridge.

He listened for the sound of the helicopter as he switched to the CIA channel. “Eagle Two, this is Eagle One. Come in.”

“We hear you. We are coming in on your beacon now. ETA ninety seconds.”

Jackson searched the sky. He couldn't see, or hear the sound of, a helicopter. The radio came to life again. “Almost there. ETA forty five seconds.”

Jackson felt a dark cloud of doubt enter his mind. He had heard many helicopters come into his location, and knew he should be able to hear a helicopter forty-five seconds away, but he still couldn’t hear the distinctive sound of a helicopter rotor. Had the RPG explosion affected his hearing so much?

“Eagle One, we have a visual on you, and are coming in.”

Alarms went off in Jackson’s head, then he saw the helicopter coming down almost two kilometers away. Someone must have activated the locater beacon in his pack.

He started shouting into his mike. “Abort! Abort! You are in the wrong place. Abort! Abort!”

Before he had finished shouting the warning, he could see the muzzle flashes of a weapon firing on full automatic directly under the helicopter. A second weapon started firing.

He watched in horror as the helicopter slowly turned over, and crashed to the ground. Seconds later it burst into flames.

Chapter 53

Chapter 51

2005-12-05T23:10:00.000-08:00

Near the village of Soosin, Azerbaijan
April 13, 2006, 2310 Local Time

Pasco felt hands turn his body over. They must think him dead, and were looting his body. They pulled his rifle out of his hands, and took his night vision goggles from his face. Losing his weapon and equipment no longer concerned him.

He heard the sound of his name being spoken from far away, as if from the end of a long tunnel. “Pasco, tell me where it hurts?”

His mind started to reconnect with the pain in his body. He struggled to speak. Eventually his brain found a way to control enough of his body to create speech, and he croaked, “Everywhere.”

“Can you move?”

“I tried.”

“Try to move your head.”

Pasco made an effort of will, and found he could move his head a little. He felt something pinch his arm.

“Did you feel that?”

“Yes.”

“Try to move your arm.”

Pasco made the effort, and felt his arm move.

“Can you move your legs?”

Pasco realized the pain was receding, and a semblance of normal feeling and control over his body returning. He managed to move his right leg a little.

“Pasco, I can't find a wound, and you are not paralyzed. What may have happened is the impact of the round on the ceramic plate of your body armor bruised the nerves in your spine or neck. It makes you feel like your whole body is in excruciating pain, but its temporary. You should be able to move in a few minutes.”

“The man who shot me?”

“He's dead. How many were there?”

“Four. I killed one, and two crawled away, but I lost track of the fourth man, then he shot me.”

“I saw it happen. Where is Herb?”

“He's dead. He was shot, but before that, he seemed to be going into combat shock. All he could do was follow me.”

Then Pasco asked, “What happened to you?”

Jackson knew it would be a while before Pasco could move. From his kneeling position, he surveyed the area around them, and, excepting the two corpses, could see no sign of hostiles.

“I was looking for you when I saw a muzzle flash, and a man, with a pack and holding a stick, go down. I knew it must be you. Without a weapon or night vision equipment, all I could do was take a bearing and go straight at the man, until I was in grenade throwing range, and hope he didn't see me. As I got closer, I could see him in the moonlight. He was standing still, like he was waiting to see if you were really dead, when I took him out with grenades.”

Jackson didn't say, he thought Pasco was dead, and he needed to get his comms, weapon, and pack to have any chance of getting out of here.

Jackson eased Pasco's pack off his back, and searched inside it for water. He found the water bottle. He took the bottle out, took a deep drink, and handed it to Pasco. “Can you hold this?”

“Can you pour some in my mouth? I'm really thirsty.”

Jackson poured a little water into Pasco's open mouth, and waited for him to swallow, before pouring more.

Pasco asked, “I saw the RPG hit that rock you were on, and thought you had bought it. What happened?”

“I don't know. I was looking for a place to setup a defensive position, and the next thing I know, I'm lying in the water on the side of the river. Let me tell you that water is cold.

“When I got out of the water, my rifle, comms headset, and night vision were gone. I spent a few minutes searching for my gear, and then came looking for you.

“I can't believe you weren't injured.”

“Who says I'm not injured? My butt hurts like hell. It must have taken a piece of shrapnel.”

Pasco chuckled. “Who would have thought your fat butt would save your ass one day.”

Jackson, who had always been sensitive about his large posterior that no amount of exercise seemed to reduce, smiled at Pasco's joke, and said, “You must be feeling better. Do we have a plan for getting out of here?”

“Herb told me there is an upland valley above a waterfall, less than a kilometer from here, where we should be able to setup a secure location for the helicopter to land.”

“Can you make it?”

“I don't have a better plan, so I guess I'll have to. I cut myself a walking stick. Can you find it?”

Jackson retrieved the stick, and helped Pasco to his feet. Pasco grasped the stick, and started to hobble unsteadily forward.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better than when I thought I was dying. Herb's body is over here. We need to get his rifle.”

They found Herb's body, and took his rifle, comms, and night vision. They couldn't do anything else except say a short prayer over his body.

Pasco resumed his hobbling progress, and Jackson followed, walking backwards in order to ensure no one came after them. There was no sign of the enemy, and it appeared they had lost the stomach for a fight. Jackson's main concern was the RPG shooter who was still out there.

***

They made it to the waterfall without incident.

“How is your foot?”

“I can walk on it. How's your butt?”

“Hurts like hell. I'm not looking forward to the chopper ride.”

They found a trail up the cliff, and Pasco started to climb, while Jackson kept watch. Jackson decided to wait, until Pasco got to the top of the waterfall, before calling the CIA.

Pasco came on the net. “I’m at the top. It's an easy climb. I have a clear view down the valley, and there is no sign of the enemy.”

“Is there a place up there for the chopper to land?”

“There are a lot of trees. I’ll have to look around.”

“No! Keep watch on the valley. I’m coming up.”

Jackson switched the comms to the CIA channel. “Eagle Two this is Eagle One. Come in.”

There was no response. He repeated the call, and got a reply.

“Eagle One, we hear you. Where's Herb?”

“We were in a firefight. Herb's dead.”

“Oh shit! Herb was a good guy.”

Jackson didn’t want to get into the details of how Herb died. There would be time enough for that later.

“Can you get the chopper in the air, and extract us?”

“We need some time to refuel, and check out the helicopter. The pilot is pretty pissed about the RPG attack. He will take some persuading to go up again. You had better be sure the landing site is secure or you guys are walking out of there.”

Jackson knew he could make the twenty klicks on foot, but was equally sure Pasco couldn't. Pasco seemed to be in a lot more pain than he was admitting too.

He didn't want to get to the top with the chopper in the air, and find there was nowhere for a helicopter to land. “We are looking for a good landing site. I guarantee it will be secure. We have defeated the terrorists. I'll give you the coordinates for the LZ in fifteen minutes.”

Jackson started climbing, and Pasco was right, it was an easy climb, in places, steps had been cut into the rock.

When he got to the top, he found Pasco keeping watch over the broad valley. The view through their night vision equipment was superb. They could see all the way back to the ridge two kilometers away. It would be impossible for anyone to approach their position unseen.

Jackson needed to find out if there were terrorists in this upland valley. The Iranian must have used this route. He would know.

“This is Eagle One. I need you to ask the Iranian if there is any chance of hostiles in the upland valley that leads to the pass.”

“OK, I’ll ask him, but he’s not saying much, just clutching that damn mechanical bird to his chest like it was his baby or something.”

Thirty seconds later Jackson got his reply. “This is Eagle Two, he says the upland valley is clear of hostiles.”

“Roger that How long before you can get the chopper in the air?”

“The pilot is pissing and moaning, but it looks like twenty minutes or so.”

“Roger, and out.”

Jackson was by no means confident the Iranian was telling the truth after what had happened at the village, so he knew he had to be careful.

“Pasco, I’m going to look for a landing site for the helicopter. Stay here, and keep watch on the main valley.”

Jackson followed a well-defined trail leading up the narrow valley. All the flat ground he could see was tree-covered. Ten minutes later, Jackson had traveled about four hundred meters up the valley, and hadn't found an, even close to suitable, site for a helicopter to land.

He checked in with Pasco. “Anything to report?”

“No, it's quiet back here.”

“I’m continuing to look for an LZ.”

He would give himself another ten minutes, even though he must be close to the distance Pasco could walk in the time it would take for the helicopter to reach them.

Ten minutes later, he still hadn’t found a suitable landing site. Every place that was flat was also tree-covered. He turned back toward the waterfall.

“This is Eagle One. When will the chopper be ready to go?”

“Almost there. A few minutes at most.”

“Can you winch us up?”

“Sorry, man. We don't have the equipment.”

He didn’t like it, but they would have to bring the helicopter down in the main valley. “Then we need another ten minutes to get to the extraction point.”

“Just make sure the LZ is free of bandits. Activate your locater beacon. We will home in on that.”

“Roger. We will activate the beacon. I’ll give you a GPS location shortly.”

Jackson switched to the local channel. “Pasco the chopper is coming. Activate your locater beacon.”

“Will do.”

The helicopter would arrive in twenty minutes. He needed to get Pasco down the cliff, and ready for pickup. Against his training, he jogged back down the trail.

He found Pasco studying the broad valley through his rifle’s telescopic sight.

“What can you see?”

“There are two men in the grove of trees.”

Pasco pointed to the trees where he had cut his improvised crutch.

“Are they armed?”

“It’s hard to tell at this distance, but it looks like one of them has an RPG launcher.”

“Shit! It must be the RPG shooter.”

This was not good news. The range was too far to drop him with a short-barreled M4, and they didn’t have time to wait for him to come closer. He recalled the Chinese sniper rifle he had given to the Army Ranger officer, and thought it would have done the job.

Jackson knew he had two alternatives. One was to abort the helicopter, and wait for the men to come within range, if they ever did. The other was to go down to the valley, get closer to the two men, and take them out.

He didn’t like either option.

“This is Eagle One. Is the chopper in the air yet?”

“Just about to go.”

“Can you hold it for a few minutes? We have a situation we have to deal with.”

“What kind of situation? Any delay, and our pilot will get cold feet. He’s pretty spooked.”

Jackson saw no reason to explain their tactical situation to someone who could do nothing to help.

“Roger, and out.”

Chapter 52

Chapter 50

2005-12-05T22:45:00.000-08:00

Near the village of Soosin, Azerbaijan
April 13, 2006, 2255 Local Time

Pasco called out on the net. “Jackson, come in. Jackson, where are you, man?”

There was no response.

Pasco knew he was in deep trouble, an injured man who couldn't walk and almost a civilian, who might be able to shoot straight, but not much else, surrounded by terrorists with no chance of rescue.

Up until this point, he had been content to leave Jackson in charge, and follow his orders. That was how missions worked in Delta Force. The man, who was best qualified, got to lead the mission, irrespective of their rank. Now Jackson was gone and he was in charge.

Pasco turned to Herb. “What's further up the valley?”

A panting Herb replied. “There is nothing on the map, until you get to a waterfall, leading to an upland valley, about a kilometer away.”

It sounded to Pasco, like it could be a defensible position. He wondered whether he could make it that far. Every step on his injured ankle caused him severe pain. He turned back to survey the area they had come from. He could see half a dozen men through the night vision equipment, all at least three hundred meters away. He was sure the person who fired the RPG was closer.

Pasco turned to Herb. “We will head for the waterfall, but first I need your help to get to those trees ahead.”

The two started out, with the CIA man supporting the D man.

There were no more than three-dozen trees in the grove. Some were just a few meters high, which is what Pasco needed. He left Herb on the edge of the grove with orders to shoot anyone he saw.

He dropped his pack to the ground, and put his hand inside to find the first aid kit. Immediately finding a specific article in the dark, was something he had practiced a thousand times. His hand closed around the kit, and pulled it out. He extracted the foil-covered codeine tablets, and pushed the kit back into his pack. He tore two tablets out of the foil packaging, and put them into his mouth, shoving the rest into a pocket. He pulled a water bottle from his pack. It wasn't until he started to drink, he realized how thirsty he was.

Pasco searched for a branch that would serve as a crutch. He stopped next to a likely looking small tree, pulled out his knife, and used its sharpened serrated edge to saw at the trunk. He was intent on his task when a rocket-propelled grenade came within a meter of him. He felt the heat, and smelled the sharp tang of burning propellant. It exploded thirty meters past him, and he swore he heard the shrapnel whiz past. The guy with the RPG launcher was scarily good.

He pulled at the small tree, and it broke away. He used his knife to cut away the foliage above where the trunk branched. He tried the crutch. It was too short, but better than nothing. He used it to hobble back to Herb.

Herb's steady fire had stopped, and Pasco asked him why.

“I'm out of ammo.”

Pasco ignored the unemotional tone of Herb's response, and focused on the military situation. He had started out with ten magazines and another hundred loose rounds. He had used and discarded four magazines. A fifth was in his weapon. He took a magazine from a pouch at his waist, and gave it to Herb. “Remember, aimed shots only.”

Their cessation of fire seemed to have emboldened their attackers. Pasco could see seven or eight men, in two groups, moving toward their position. The approaching men fired occasional shots in their direction.

“We are going to the waterfall to find a secure location where we can call in the helicopter. Stay five meters behind me, and try to keep the enemy back. Let's go.”

Pasco resisted giving Herb a second magazine. Perhaps having just one would make him conserve ammunition. He steeled himself, and found he could manage a hobbling walk with the codeine deadening the pain.

He reached the far side of the grove, and searched the ground in front of him. There was no one in sight on this side of the trees. Without his injured ankle, they would get away easily at a dead run. He looked behind and Herb was there. Pasco started forward again using the stick more like a walking stick than a crutch.

After fifty meters, he stopped, and looked back. Herb was right behind him not attempting to fire at their pursuers. Pasco couldn't see any enemy, but the trees obscured his view. He decided there was no point in doing other than letting Herb follow him like a faithful dog.
Pasco again looked back. He could see four men to the left of the grove of trees coming in their direction.

Pasco dropped his crutch, and shouldered his weapon. He sighted on the leading man and fired. Pasco thought he had missed. The codeine was dulling his senses.

Several bursts of automatic weapons fire came from the direction of the four men. As Pasco dropped to the ground, he saw Herb go down. Pasco knew, from the way Herb fell, he had been hit.

“Herb, can you hear me?”

There was no reply. Pasco crawled across to Herb as the rounds snapped through the air above him. Herb was still breathing, but barely. His face and chest were covered in blood. He felt for where Herb had been hit. It didn't take him long to find the blood pumping out of his neck. A punctured carotid artery was close to impossible to treat in the field, even in the best of circumstances.

Pasco could no longer see the four men. He was sure they were crawling through the grass toward him. Their tactic was to fire at muzzle flashes. Shooting at them would just make him a target. He would wait until they came into throwing range, and use grenades. If they fired at him, he would use the muzzle flash tactic against them.

Pasco tried and failed to find a pulse on Herb's neck. He was either dead or close to it. Pasco removed the ammunition clip from Herb's rifle, and started to crawl away, rifle in one hand and his stick in the other. He was the last one left, but he still might get out of here alive.

When he had moved about ten meters, he stopped crawling, and prepared to deal with the men coming after him.

Pasco checked all his grenades were in the right places. He had ten mini and two full-sized grenades. He considered whether he should stand for a moment to try to get a visual on the men. He decided to kneel. He was sure he could see a man's head fifty meters ahead of him, out of grenade throwing range for a kneeling man. Continuing to crawl away merely delayed the inevitable confrontation. He would do it here.

Pasco waited a minute, and again got to his knees. He could see the heads of two men. He got down, and took out three mini-grenades and one full sized fragmentation grenade. He got back to his knees, pulled the safety pins, and threw the three mini-grenades in quick succession, then dropped down flat on the ground, and waited for the detonations. He waited another twenty seconds, and threw the full sized grenade. After it exploded, he got back to his knees, his rifle at his shoulder. He could see one man sitting up with his hands to his face. Pasco shot him in the chest. He waited to see if anyone else appeared, but the others were dead, injured, or knew enough to keep down.

It was time to get out of here. He searched the area, and saw a man moving on the far side of the grove. Pasco targeted the man with his rifle, but had trouble getting a bead on him through the trees. As he tried to get a clear shot, he realized there was something familiar about the bulky outline of the figure that suggested body armor worn under a loose jacket. He wasn't sure, but he was unsure enough to hesitate.

Pasco got back down on the ground, and started calling over the net, “Jackson, come in.”

If the man was Jackson, why wasn't he responding?

The figure was moving directly toward his position of twenty minutes earlier. He could now see the man was unarmed, and had no helmet or pack.

Pasco was torn between getting out of his current location, and establishing whether the figure he could see was Jackson - and an unarmed Jackson at that. He got back down flat on the ground. He would wait a few minutes to see what the mystery man did.

The night was still with the faint whisper of a breeze through the trees. He thought, at least one of the men ahead of him had survived the grenades. If the man beyond the trees was Jackson trying to find him, he would run unarmed into the surviving terrorist.

Pasco thought this not knowing where the enemy was, and who was a good guy really sucked. He could handle shooting bad guys, and getting shot at in return, but not the possibility he might be killing a friend, a fellow D man. What a minute earlier had been a simple kill or be killed equation had now become a lot more complex.

Pasco knew you had to control the situation, and not let the situation control you. He had to take care of any enemy ahead of him before the unarmed man, who might be Jackson, got here. He began to crawl slowly forward taking a route wide of Herb's body, hoping to avoid running directly into anyone coming in his direction.

He estimated he was twenty meters away from the men he had attacked with grenades. Pasco cautiously raised himself off the ground looking around for any signs of movement.

He could see, what looked like, two men crawling away from him. The mystery man was now in the trees. He dropped down, crawled forward another ten meters, and slowly raised himself off the ground. He could see the same two men still crawling away from his position. They were passing to the left of the grove of trees. The mystery man was no more than twenty meters from the crawling men. Both might pass each other unseen.

A dead man was lying on the ground directly in front of him. He could see by the chest wound it was the man he had shot. That left one man unaccounted for. He had to find the fourth man.

The fourth man found him. Pasco felt the hammer blow of a round hitting the back of his body armor. He fell face down in the grass, his body screaming with pain. The round must have penetrated his body armor. Pasco tried to roll over to have some chance of defending himself, but his body refused to obey his commands. D men aren't meant to die, face down and helpless.

Pasco suddenly felt clear and calm, as his mind dissociated from his pain-wracked body. He knew, this was what people who had come close to death reported, but was unconcerned this meant he was dying.

After an indeterminate period in a calm detached state, he heard an explosion that sounded both near by and echoey, as if in the far distance, closely followed by a second explosion.

Chapter 51

Chapter 49

2005-12-05T22:26:00.000-08:00

Near the village of Soosin, Azerbaijan
April 13, 2006, 2240 Local Time

When Jackson reached Pasco, he was lying on the ground grimacing in pain, and clutching his leg. “Another thirty meters, another four seconds, and I would have made it.”

“Where are you hit?”

“I'm not. It’s my ankle. I twisted it on a rock. It hurts like hell.”

Jackson turned back toward the helicopter, and saw it was already thirty meters above the ground and turning away from him. The image of the helicopter leaving, distracted him from the sight of a man standing where the helicopter had been.

The CIA man's voice came over the net. “The RPG was the last straw for the pilot. He was bugging out anyway, so I told him to take your friend back for medical attention. He'll be back. That's if we are still around to be picked up.”

Jackson could hear rounds zipping past them. He shouted to the CIA man. “Get down!”

The CIA man dropped to the ground, and belly-crawled to reach them.

Jackson knew they had to get away from this exposed position fast. “We need to get to a place where we can setup a defensive position. It’s way too open here.”

The CIA man responded, “There's a rocky outcrop down by the river. We could hole up there, and the river will protect our backs.”

“How far?”

“Three hundred meters at most. Almost due south.”

“I see it.”

“Pasco, can you crawl?”

“I'm good to crawl.”

Jackson did a mental equipment check. All three had night vision equipment, and he had his weapon, but not his pack. He had four magazines in his belt pouches, plus a pair of M203 rifle grenades, and a dozen golf ball sized mini-grenades. Pasco's weapon was lying on the ground next to him, and he still had his pack so they would have some food, water, and a medical kit.

That left the CIA man. Jackson realized he didn't know his name. “Spook, you got a name?”

“It’s Herb.”

“I’m Jackson. This is Pasco. OK, Herb what you got?”

The CIA man hesitated before replying. “My M16 and two mags.”

“Any food, water, medical supplies, satellite comms?”

“No!”

Jackson knew the man had acted on impulse, but silently cursed him for not being more prepared. Jackson thought, 'another Special Forces wannabe'.

They could survive without food and water, but he wished they had more ammo, and another medical kit might mean the difference between life and death for someone. A more detailed inventory could wait until they reached the rocks.

The voice of the second CIA man came over the radio. “Eagle One this is Eagle Two, come in.”
Jackson responded, “This is Eagle One, we hear you.”

“Your buddy is in a bad way, but seems stable for now. His shoulder is a mess. I examined the wound, and I don't think there is damage to major organs, but he has lost a lot of blood. I have radioed ahead to make sure a doctor meets the chopper. Your friend is conscious now, and if he is still alive when we land, my guess is he will make it.”

“Thanks!”

“We will make sure the other package reaches the correct destination. Tell Herb to take care of himself. We’ll come back for you as soon as we can.”

“Roger.”

Jackson outlined his plan to the other two men. “We crawl toward the rock outcrop. That means, we have to keep the men on our right back, to give us time to get there. I think someone out there has night vision equipment. The shooting is too accurate for men firing blind in the dark.”

For Herb's benefit, he explained the procedure.

“One man crawls forward twenty meters, while the other two lay down suppressive fire. Then the lead man stops, and lays down suppressive fire, while the second man crawls forward ten meters past the lead man. He then stops, and the last man crawls forward until he is ten meters in front of the new lead man. We keep going like that until we reach our objective. You got that Herb?”

“Yep, I got it.”

“OK, we don't have a lot of ammo, so single aimed shots only. You see anyone within a hundred meters you call out on the net 'Enemy close', and we all stop until we neutralize the problem.”

Jackson reckoned that if things went to plan, they would be at the rocks in ten minutes. He would leave consideration of what to do next until he had seen what kind of defensive position the rocks made.

“Pasco, give me your pack. You go first on my command. Herb, you go second.”

Jackson needed to see if Pasco could move as well he claimed, and if Herb could move any distance crawling on his belly.

Pasco shucked off his pack, and waited for Jackson's order to go. Jackson surveyed the ground between their position and what must be the rocks, Herb had described. He could see a group of five figures two hundred meters away from both his position and the rocks. Unless they moved quickly, those men could get between them and their objective.

“Go Pasco! Herb, cover Pasco on the right. I'll handle the rest.”

He could see a large group of men on the trail less than one hundred fifty meters away, and coming in their direction. Job 1, was to keep those men back. Jackson took aim with his weapon, and squeezed off aimed shots. He dropped one man, then a second. The rest of the men went to ground.

He looked to his right, and could see Herb firing single shots at two or three second intervals. He didn't see men going down. Pasco seemed to have no problem crawling, and had almost made his twenty meters. “Herb, stop firing. Save your ammo. Get ready to go.”

Jackson turned back toward the men on the trail, as he heard Pasco call for the next man to go. They were all on the ground, and a steady stream of shots was coming from their direction. He could see other men circling, far out to his left. They were probably out of range, but he squeezed off a couple of shots to slow them.

He glanced to his right, and saw Herb making slow awkward progress. Too slow! Time was of the essence. They had to get to their objective before the terrorists cut them off. SOP assumed everyone was doing his job. Herb wasn't. He looked down the trail in front of him. He could make out one man crawling through the grass toward him. Jackson took careful aim, and squeeze off a shot. He saw the man jerk violently, then lay still.

Jackson started crawling after the two other men. “Pasco, I'm on my way.”

He overtook Herb before he reached Pasco. He gave a thumbs-up to him as he passed him.

Jackson stopped ten meters past Pasco. “Pasco, has Herb past you yet?”

“He just past me.”

“Pasco, I want you to go now. Herb, just keep going toward the rocks.”

Jackson could see the five men to their right still moving toward the area between them and their objective. One of the men definitely had an RPG launcher strapped to his back, and another appeared to be carrying a load of RPGs. Those men had to be stopped. As he watched, they disappeared into a depression in the ground. Losing sight of those men was very bad. It meant they could appear without warning anywhere ahead of them.

Jackson thought how a tactical robot would be decisive in this encounter. He could use it to flush those men out of cover, and either the robot killed them or let him kill them from a distance. Without a robot, he would have to get close, and do the dangerous work himself.

Pasco was crawling past him, and he put his arm out to stop him.

“I've lost sight off the men out there. I have to find them. I need you to take your pack back, and make sure Herb gets through.”

“OK!”

Jackson slipped his arms out of the pack, and rolled away from it. He had to risk standing to see if he could get a visual on the men. He quickly got to his feet, and scanned the area in front of him. He thought he could see a stream that cut diagonally across in front of them and at least three of the five men beyond it. He dropped back down.

Pasco had his pack back on, and Jackson could see Herb crawling slowly toward them. “Pasco, I think, I can see a stream about sixty meters ahead. I need to stop the enemy taking up a position there. Stay here, and cover me.”

He added as an afterthought. “Make sure Herb keeps moving.”

“Take care.”

Jackson set out for his objective, moving as quickly as he could. He’d had plenty of practice belly-crawling, and made good time. He didn't pause to check if any of the enemy was in view. He trusted Pasco to do it for him. He reached the stream exactly where he expected to find it. The stream was more like a drainage ditch, dug to a uniform depth of a little more than a meter. It had a few centimeters of water in the bottom.

Jackson slid down the side of the ditch into the cold water at the bottom, and lay still, listening for any sounds. It was too early in the year for insects, although he thought he could hear frogs croaking in the distance.

He needed to risk contacting Pasco, and spoke quietly into his microphone. “Pasco, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“I'm in position. Make sure you pass to my rear, your right. I'll maintain radio silence, but you need to keep me posted on your movements.”

“Roger that.”

Jackson began to crawl down the ditch taking care not to make any sound. Silence was the key to winning these kinds of encounters. The person who heard his opponent first would know his opponent's location, while keeping his own location secret, and would then be in a position to kill his opponent before his opponent could react.

Jackson stopped every few meters to listen. After he had progressed twenty meters along the ditch, he knew he had to decide. Either wait here and ambush the men when they came closer, or continue moving forward. Stopping gave him a better chance of winning the encounter, assuming his enemy kept coming, but, if his enemy took a different route, his position could be compromised or become isolated. He would wait until Pasco reached the stream before deciding.

While he waited, he again thought of MAADS, and how being able to see down on the battlefield and know the exact locations of the enemy, was a crucial advantage. It meant you could position yourself, and wait for the enemy to come to you. It reversed the Army's core doctrines of mobility and aggression, at least at the small unit tactical level.

He heard Pasco's voice over the net. “I should be close to the stream. Herb is twenty meters behind me. The enemy is keeping back. The nearest is two hundred meters due East. I can't see anyone closer.”

It was time to move on his opponent. Jackson began to crawl slowly forward. The cold ditch water soaked the bottom half of his body, and after keeping still, he felt chilled. He crawled another fifteen meters, and after several pauses to listen, he was sure he heard a voice. He kept still and listened for thirty seconds. He heard nothing except the faint sound of frogs. As he started to crawl forward, he heard the same voice. It sounded close. The ditch made a sharp left turn a couple of meters in front of him.

He needed to get to the turn and see beyond it.

Pasco's voice came over the net. “I'm at the stream. Herb is almost here. He's tiring, but should make it to the rocks. The closest enemy is two hundred meters away, and not moving in our direction. Their shots are well wide of our position. I'm sure, they don't know we are here. Good luck, Jackson.”

Jackson was almost at the left turn in the stream's course. He had to choose between killing the men just ahead of him, and at the same time advertising his position, or getting out of this location and reaching the rocks, without the enemy knowing he had been here. Which was a better option, depended on whether he could get away undetected.

He got to his knees, inched forward, and leaned his head trying to get a view past the turn. A hand moved into his field of view, less than four meters away, much too close to get away undetected. He would have to fight it out.

He backed up slightly, so the turn would protect him from blast and shrapnel, and took three mini-grenades from a pouch in his combat vest. He would use the grenades, then follow up with rifle fire. Staying in the ditch when he used the rifle would hide the muzzle flashes, but the way to ensure he killed all the men was by firing down into the ditch.

He gripped the safety lever, and pulled the pin on the first grenade. He released the safety lever, and counted to two, before lobbing it five meters. He didn't want anyone throwing the grenade back at him.

Jackson immediately pulled the pin on the second grenade, while worrying the water would reduce the blast. The first grenade exploded, showering him with mud and water, even though he had pressed his head against the side of the ditch to avoid the worst of the blast. He felt the heat and cordite fumes on his face, and his ears rang from the noise of the explosion. He raised his head, and tossed the second grenade to the sound of a man screaming in pain. He primed the third grenade, then shot to his feet, and rolled onto the bank of the ditch. He could see the top half of two men. Both were looking down into the ditch as the second grenade exploded. One of the men went down.

The grenade wasn't a good option but he had to get rid of it. He tossed it into the ditch in front of the man he could see, before the grenade had reached him, he had the man in his rifle sights, and fired a shot. The man didn't go down. Before he could fire a second shot, the grenade exploded, and the man disappeared from view.

He no longer needed to keep silent. “Pasco, that was me. I will check for survivors, then join you.”

“Roger. We are fifty meters short of the objective. No enemy close.”

Jackson crawled to the edge of the ditch. A pistol is the best weapon for this kind of closeup work, but he didn't have one. He would make do with the rifle held in a pistol grip. He peered over the lip of the ditch, and could see three men.

Two were lying still in the water, likely dead. The third was sitting with his hands holding his face, and moaning quietly. Jackson judged none of the three was a threat. He was certain he had seen five men, but there was no sign of the other two.

They needed to get to the rocks, and form a strongpoint as fast as possible. He jumped to his feet, and started running. “Pasco, threat eliminated. Go to the rocks. Now!”

As he ran, he knew the two remaining men could be targeting him, but no one fired as he ran past a hobbling Pasco helped along by Herb. The rocks were directly ahead of him, and their previously undifferentiated features became clearer as he got closer. There was a single slab of rock right up against the river sloping up to a height of ten meters.

He reached the rock, and jogged up its sloping side. He could see the river on both sides of him as it flowed around the rock. It should make an ideal defensive position because the rock could only be approached from a ninety-degree arc. Jackson reached the top. It gave an elevated field of fire across the valley, but that wasn't what held his attention. He was staring at a sheer drop into the river. Nowhere on the rock was protected. It was useless as a defensive position.

Pasco was thirty meters from the rock when he saw the glare of the RPG flash in from his left. The top half of the rock disappeared in a fiery blast. When the smoke cleared, Jackson was gone.

Chapter 50

Chapter 48

2005-12-05T22:10:00.000-08:00

Near the village of Soosin, Azerbaijan
April 13, 2006, 2230 Local Time

Jackson saw the Iranian reach down into what must be a gap in the rock, and remove something large. He pulled his night vision goggles off, to see it in the light from the flashlight. It was definitely the aerial vehicle. Jackson felt a surge of relief. He put his night vision goggles back on.

“Allen, Pasco, take down any men you see carrying a weapon. Target those in the lead. I want those men driven back toward the village. I have called in the chopper, and we need to ensure there are no hostiles within range when it arrives.”

Pasco came on. “Good! We get to ride out of here. I wasn't looking forward to walking.”

Sergeant Jackson heard the sound of an M4 rifle firing single shots.

“Two enemy down, three, four enemy down. They are dispersing, but still coming forward.”

Jackson turned to the Iranian. “Can you tell me what arms the men from the village have? Do they have night vision equipment?”

“They will have Kalashnikov rifles and RPG launchers. They may have night vision equipment. I heard that some came in a shipment from Arab supporters.”

“Do they have surface-to-air missiles?”

“Not unless they have captured those kinds of weapons here in Azerbaijan, or the Arabs gave them one, which I doubt.”

“I need you to stay here, and not move. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Pasco, I'm coming up to your position.”

Jackson scrambled up toward Pasco who was just below the crest of the ridge. When he reached him, he could see muzzle flashes from the attackers, and men get up, run for short distances, then drop to the ground. Below and to his right, he could also see regular flashes from Allen's weapon.

“Allen, what can you see?”

“The enemy are dispersing to our flanks, and may be trying to encircle us. They have taken significant casualties.”

Jackson knew that lack of night vision and communications equipment could be a tactical advantage when the result was men unaware of the casualties their side was taking, and continuing to advance.

“Pasco, I want you to take a close look at all the men in view. See if any of them have anything that looks like a SAM, and if they do, tap down, but do it quickly, we don't have much time.”

Dammit! How could he drive those men back, with only two soldiers? He hoped, the men advancing toward them didn't have night vision equipment. If they did, he and the other two Delta Force soldiers were in serious trouble.

He switched to the channel he used to communicate with the Iranian. “What's further up this valley?”

“Only pastures and some orchards, until you get to a waterfall about two kilometers away.”

Sergeant Jackson glanced down at the digital display on his wrist - ten minutes before the chopper arrived. “Let's get out of here. Allen, meet me on the trail in sixty seconds."

Jackson signaled to Pasco to follow him, and scrambled back toward the Iranian who was standing where he had told him to wait.

When he reached the Iranian, he said, “We need to leave quickly. Carry the bird, and come with me.”

Without waiting for the translation, Jackson took the Iranian by the arm, and led him back down toward the trail. As he did, a flaming object arced over their heads followed by a loud explosion fifty meters beyond the ridge. Jackson knew it must have been an RPG round. When they reached the trail, he heard a loud explosion from the direction of Allen's position, on the other side of the ridge.

Pasco followed them down a few seconds later. “Allen, we are waiting for you.”

Jackson heard Allen’s shaky voice. “I've been hit.”

“Shit! “How seriously? I’m coming.”

“I'm bleeding bad.”

Jackson ran back down the trail, and found Allen sitting against the rock wall. Blood covered the left side of his body, coming from what looked a shoulder wound. He took Allen’s weapon from his hands. It was slick with blood. He gently removed Allen's pack trying not to further injure his shoulder.

Jackson took a trauma pack from Allen's pack, pressed, and then taped it to Allen's shoulder. He hoped those new Quickclot trauma packs were as effective at stopping bleeding as the doctors claimed. Jackson hesitated before jabbing a morphine shot into his thigh. He had to take the chance Allen didn't have internal injuries, because he needed him to move immediately.

“Pasco, come back, and guard the trail through the ridge, but keep out of sight.”

Jackson quietly asked, “Can you walk?”

“Maybe a bit, if you help me.”

Allen already had the woozy vagueness that loss of blood combined with morphine causes. Jackson supported him as Allen began to hesitantly walk.

Jackson knew they were running out of time before the chopper arrived. They had to get at least eight hundred meters distant to make sure it would be beyond effective rifle range from men at the ridge.

They reached the Iranian who was standing with the aerial vehicle slung on his back.

“We are going run up the trail in the direction of the mountains. Can you run and carry the bird?”

“I am familiar with carrying the bird while running.”

“We will go up the trail at least eight hundred meters in order to meet the chopper. Pasco cover our rear. Stay a hundred meters behind me. OK, we are on our way.”

Jackson grabbed the Iranian, and shoved him forward. He then pulled Allen's good arm around his shoulder, and started to move him forward. After less than a hundred meters, Allen slumped unconscious against him.

Allen was a big man, but Jackson had no alternative except to carry him. He kept hold of Allen, while he discarded his own pack, then bent down, and hoisted Allen over his shoulder. He knew he could carry him far enough, but wasn't sure he could carry him fast enough. He pulled the earphones way from his ears to listen for the sound of a helicopter, and then replaced them.

“Pasco, follow us, and make sure you destroy Allen's pack and my pack on the way.

Jackson staggered under Allen's weight, but pushed on, focusing on not falling, and on shutting out the metallic, coppery smell of blood. He had five hundred meters to go. He used his free hand to again pull his earphone away, and could hear the sound of a helicopter in the distance.

“Eagle Two, this is Eagle One. Keep high until you come into our location.”

“Eagle One, we see muzzle flashes. We cannot land if there is ground fire.”

“Eagle Two, we are moving clear of the combat zone. The area to our west is clear of hostiles. We are moving there now, and will be ready for extraction in three minutes.”

Jackson sincerely hoped, what he had said about the area to the west was true. If it wasn't, their chances of getting out of here were slim. He was moving as quickly as he could under his heavy load. If he stumbled and fell, he doubted he could get the unconscious Allen back on his shoulder. He felt his strength reaching its limit.

Jackson struggled to find the breath to speak. “Pasco, where are you?”

“I'm coming, but I can see men coming over the ridge to my left.”

“I want as much suppressive fire as possible directed at those men, then come back to our position. I'm calling the chopper down now.”

“I need to find your pack, and destroy it.”

“Forget the pack. Get here as fast as you can.”

“Bring the chopper down at this location”

Jackson gave a position a hundred and fifty meters ahead of him.

“We will be down in sixty seconds.”

“Pasco, did you hear that?”

“Roger, I'm on my way.”

He could hear the sound of the helicopter. Just over a hundred meters to go. He looked up, and could see the chopper clearly through the night vision equipment.

The Iranian ahead of him, stopped, and looked up. They both watched the helicopter land fifty meters in front of them. Jackson gathered his remaining strength, and made his way forward carrying his heavy load. He could see a man, with an M16 to his shoulder, at the open door of the helicopter.

He was breathing hard, and his heart was pounding. He struggled to speak into his microphone. “Pasco, where are you?

“I’m coming. I had to keep them back until the chopper was down.”

At last, Jackson was at the helicopter door, and he gently swung the limp body of Allen onto the floor of the chopper.

Jackson shouted over the noise of the helicopter, “He has lost a lot of blood. We need to get an IV into him fast.”

The man at the door of the helicopter was the CIA man who had briefed them. The second CIA man, at the other door of the chopper, turned in their direction. He took one look at Allen, dropped to his knees, and felt his neck pulse. He turned to a first aid cabinet on the inside wall of the helicopter, pulled open the door, took out an IV kit, and hung the bag on a hook on the side of the helicopter. He then pulled back the sleeve on Allen's uninjured arm, gripped his arm with his left hand to raise the vein, and pushed the needle in. When he was satisfied the needle was in correctly, he taped it to Allen's arm.

When Jackson saw the CIA man take out the IV kit, he felt relief because it meant Allen was still alive. All the way to the helicopter, he feared he was carrying a corpse.

The Iranian climbed aboard the helicopter, and sat in the corner clutching the aerial vehicle to his chest. He stared directly at Jackson with a strange look in his eyes.

Jackson turned to look for Pasco. He was still at least two hundred meters away, and running in their direction. He must have stayed back to keep the enemy at bay, so the helicopter could land.

Jackson touched the arm of the CIA man, and pointed at Pasco. “One of ours.” The man nodded.
He could see muzzle flashes from at least five locations, then above the noise of the helicopter’s rotor, he heard the distinctive 'ping' of a round hitting metal, and then another 'ping'.

The pilot came on. “We are taking fire. I'm getting out of here.”

Sergeant Jackson turned the pilot “Another twenty seconds. We have one more man.”

Jackson turned back, to see Pasco running as fast as he could, arms pumping, his rifle still clutched in his hand. He was at least a hundred meters away. Jackson felt two hands grab his arms, and pull him onboard, as the helicopter lifted from the ground. There were two more pings as rounds hit the helicopter. As Jackson twisted to free himself from the hands, he saw where one of the rounds had gone through the helicopter's metal skin.

He refused to leave without Pasco. He heard one of the CIA men say to the pilot. “He won't come aboard.”

The pilot replied. “Then we leave without him. I've already disobeyed my orders not to land in a combat situation.”

He heard the second CIA man say “So is another ten seconds gonna make a difference?”

The helicopter settled back onto the ground. Pasco was now sixty meters away running for all he was worth. Jackson felt as if time had slowed almost to the point of stopping entirely. Pasco's progress was glacial. Suddenly, he stumbled and fell as one of his legs gave way.

As Pasco hit the ground, Jackson jumped forward. At the same moment he saw, through his night vision goggles, the distinctive propellant flame of a rocket propelled grenade heading straight at him. Before he could react, the projectile flashed past, a few meters wide of the helicopter. The concussion from its blast hit him as he started running. When he was halfway to Pasco he felt the increase in the helicopter rotor's down draft, and didn't need to look back to know it was taking off.

Chapter 49

Chapter 47

2005-12-05T21:34:00.000-08:00

Near the village of Soosin, Azerbaijan
April 13, 2006, 2200 Local Time

From the darkness Razmara heard, “Oqab, Oqab.”

He could just make out the shape of a man on the bridge. He heard the word repeated in a strange accent, “Oqab, Oqab.”

Razmara got to his feet and replied, “Aftab.”

He felt something hard poke into his ribs, and turned his head to see the dark shape of a man standing behind him with a gun, whose barrel was right up against his back.

“Jackson, over here.”

Razmara thought whoever these people were, they were good soldiers. They had found him without him detecting their presence. They were clearly professionals, and this reinforced in his mind that they really were Americans.

A hand searched him for weapons, found his pistol, and took it from him. He heard a splash as it was thrown into the river.

The man on the bridge walked toward him. He was wearing some kind of fat goggles, Razmara thought must be night vision equipment. The man stood in front of him, and reached out, putting an earphone and microphone headset on Razmara's head.

Razmara said, “What's this?”

After a delay, the man replied in a language he didn't understand.

After another short delay he heard through his earphones. “This allows us to talk to each other.”

How ingenious, Razmara thought. They didn't have a language in common, so they had used technology to solve the problem. He was almost convinced, these people were indeed Americans.

The man spoke again, and after the delay, he heard through his earphones. “Where is the mechanical bird?”

Razmara replied. “I have hidden it somewhere safe.”

The man spoke again, and it wasn't translated for him. Razmara thought he must have been requesting instructions.

He heard a voice speaking Farsi. “Captain Razmara, our arrangement was dependent on you returning the bird to us. No bird! No deal! Do you understand?”

He tried to sound more confident than he felt, with a gun pressed against his back, as he replied, “Yes, I understand, but I need to trust you, and ensure you keep your end of the bargain. Until then, I will keep the location of the bird secret.”

He heard the same voice speak to him. “Captain Razmara, we understand you would have difficulty in trusting us, but we assure you, we are who we say we are, and we will keep our promises as long as you keep your side of the bargain. You need to return the bird to us, and you need to do it tonight.”

He felt his resolve to keep the bird’s location secret start to weaken. So far, these people had done everything they said they would, and he realized his point of no return had already passed. These men could do whatever they wanted with him. He would have to take them to where he had hidden the bird. If, when they got possession of the bird, they changed the way they treated him, he still might be able to use his knowledge of the Iranian Jihadis in the village to his advantage.

“I will take you to where I have hidden the mechanical bird. It is on the other side of the village about two kilometers from here, on the trail from the high mountains.”

There was a long pause, and Razmara assumed the man in front of him was listening to instructions on his headset. He then issued orders to the man who held a gun to Razmara's side, and to an unseen person to Razmara's right. Razmara turned his head, and saw another man in the moonlight pointing a weapon at him. Like the other two men, he wore those bulky goggles.

He heard Farsi through his earphones. “Take us to the bird.”

Razmara replied, “We need to avoid the village. There are dogs, and they will bark at strangers. Finding a way around the village will be difficult in the dark.”

There was another pause as he presumed his remarks were translated to the man standing in front of him.

Then a message for him. “These men have equipment that allows them to see in the dark. They will give you the same equipment, so you can see in the dark as well.”

The man behind Razmara came into his field of view, and handed something to the man standing in front of him. It looked like a pair of the bulky goggles. The man in front of him made adjustments, and then handed the goggles to Razmara, at the same time speaking into his microphone. This was relayed to him as, “Put these on.”

Razmara took off the headset, and figured out how to put on the goggles. When he looked through them, the pale moonlight was suddenly as bright as day, although unlike any daylight scene he had ever seen. Everything was in shades of green with unnatural shadows, as if light sources in strange locations illuminated the scene.

He looked up at the sky. The stars were brilliant diamonds, and the moon so bright he had to look away. He heard the man speak, and the man held the earphones against Razmara's head, so he could hear the translation. “Don't look at the moon or any other bright light source. It will impair your ability to see with the equipment.”

He realized what they meant because the scene in front of him was much dimmer than before. Razmara got the headset back on over the goggles' head strap, and adjusted it for comfort.

Another request came over his headphones. “Can you show us a way around the village?”

“No, I came here through the village, and that is the only way I know.”

The man in front of him spoke again, and the translation came to him as, “Captain Razmara we are running behind schedule, and need to move quickly.”

“I understand, and I am ready to lead you to the place.”

The man in front of Razmara again seemed to be listening to instructions only he could hear. He then raised his arm, and signaled to the other men. The man reached behind, and pulled down a weapon, Razmara had not seen. Now he had the goggles, he could see many things that were previously invisible to him.

One of the men behind, passed on Razmara's left, and the man in front turned to follow. The third man, who still held the gun to his ribs, put his hand on Razmara's shoulder, and firmly pushed him in the same direction. Razmara followed behind the two men, with the third man behind him.

The novelty of the night vision goggles fascinated Razmara, and he inspected his surroundings as they moved across fields, bypassing the village. Many familiar things were instantly recognizable, while others looked different, and it took him time to realize what they were. At one point, they crossed a stream, and the surface had a curious silvery quality he found quite beautiful.

The three men seemed familiar with the goggles, and while he stumbled frequently because perspectives were different to real light, they never did.

They crossed fields and pastures following the course of the river, passing within two hundred meters of the village. A dog barked, followed by a second dog, but no one came to investigate. The man in front of Razmara looked frequently in the direction of the village, but did not slow.

Once the four men were past the village, Razmara heard a voice on his headset. “Which way, and how much further?”

He replied, “Not much further. Up ahead, there is a rocky ridge that extends across the valley. When we reach it, we turn right, and it will take us to the trail that goes up into the mountains. We follow the trail through the ridge, and the bird is hidden on the far side.”

His answer seemed to satisfy the men, and there were no follow-up questions. Razmara thought he could see the ridge ahead with silvery water flowing through a gap to the left, but was unsure with the distorted perspectives of the night vision equipment.

A short while later, Razmara was sure it was the ridge ahead of them, and he could hear the sound of fast flowing water. The lead man turned right to follow the ridge.

They reached the narrow gap in the ridge, and Jackson heard, through the translator, the Iranian say, they were close to the place he had hidden the bird. Jackson was satisfied with the mission's progress, and as long as the Iranian was telling the truth, they would be back at their extraction point, with the aerial vehicle, before 0200.

Allen, the lead man, spoke over the net. “There's a whole bunch of animals just ahead. Sheep, I think.”

Sergeant Jackson's previous experience of sheep was confined to barbecuing lamb chops, but as far as he knew, sheep weren't dangerous. “Continue through them, and try not to start them bleating, or whatever it is that sheep do.”

“Roger.”

The sheep scattered making 'baaing' sounds as the men moved through them. Suddenly a human figure rose up from among the moving animals.

“He's armed.”

This was one of those scenarios Delta Force practiced a hundred times always with the same question, 'Take down the man or not?' This was likely an innocent shepherd guarding his sheep against wolves or whatever attacked sheep around here. A loud explosion, amplified in the narrow confines of the rock-sided walls, answered the question for him. The shepherd had fired a weapon. Allen shot the man in response, and the shepherd went down.

“Anyone one hit?”

Sergeant Jackson turned to the Iranian, saw he was still standing, and asked, “You hit?”

The Iranian spoke and Jackson didn't need the translation to know he said, “No.”

Allen came on. “The man's dead.”

Jackson told the Iranian, “Take us to the bird immediately.”

“Allen, go back to where you can see the village, and report any activity.”

“Roger.”

He heard the translated reply from the Iranian. “Follow me! I will lead you to the place where I hid the bird.”

“Pasco, come with me.”

Razmara led the way as he searched for the place where he had climbed the ridge to hide the bird. Everything looked different with these goggles, and he knew he must have gone past the place, as they had nearly left the ridge behind.

Allen came on the net. “I can see activity at the edge of the village. Ten to twelve men coming this way.”

“Are they armed?”

“I can't tell at this distance.”

Sergeant Jackson realized he was hearing the CIA man translate the Iranian. “I am having difficulty finding the place I left the bird. Things look different through these goggles.”

He hoped the man wasn't stalling because they would have to bug out of here very shortly, and his orders had been specific. If the man didn't produce the aerial vehicle, and if he couldn't extract him without endangering the team, then he was to kill him. He was deeply uncomfortable with the idea of executing a man, but he knew by participating in a covert mission he had gone outside the normal rules of warfare. Technically, he was no longer a soldier. He was a spy and a saboteur, not protected by the Geneva Convention. He could be executed even in a nominally friendly country like this.

“At least fifteen men coming in this direction. Some are armed.”

“Allen, hold your position, and keep reporting.”

Jackson turned to the Iranian, who was walking back and forth along a ten-meter stretch of rock, and said, “You must find the bird immediately.”

The translated reply came through. “I think it must be up here, but everything looks so different.”

Jackson grabbed him by the shoulder, and pushed him toward the rock. “Let's go.”

The Iranian began to climb the rocks on the side of the trail.

“The men are six hundred meters away, and advancing toward us.”

“Hold your position Allen. Keep out of sight. They may have night vision. Report, when they are at three hundred meters.”

“Roger.”

Sergeant Jackson's was on the verge of invoking his emergency extraction option, calling in the helicopter to this location. They would have to drive off the men coming from the village before the chopper could land.

He could see the Iranian walking across the sloping top of the ridge, looking down. “I think this the right place, but I need a light to search with?”

Jackson replied through the translator. “No! We can't show a light. Armed men are coming in this direction.”

“I think this is the right place. I placed the bird in a crevice in the rock, but with these goggles, I cannot see if anything is in the crevices.”

Jackson knew this was a key decision, and his life could well depend on its outcome. He had a flashlight attached to his belt. He could give it to the Iranian to use in his search, but it would compromise their position. Right now, the men coming up the trail had no idea they were here. Shine a flashlight, and it would be like setting up a neon sign with a big flashing arrow that said, 'We are here'.

“Pasco, follow me.”

Both men followed the same route up the rocks the Iranian had taken.

“Pasco, find a position where you can see the men coming toward us.”

“Allen, how close are they?”

“Around four hundred meters, and still advancing.”

“He reached down, detached his flashlight, and handed it to the Iranian.”

“Find the bird as quickly as you can.”

He didn't wait for a reply. He immediately switched to the channel to contact the CIA. “This is Eagle One. I want that helicopter now. Our location is one thousand meters west of the village. GPS position North 3786.2, East 4864.9.”

If they were in a combat situation when the helicopter arrived, he still had the option of aborting
the extraction.

He saw an intense flash of light through his night vision equipment, and called out the net. “Allen, Pasco, the Iranian is using a light to search. Be prepared to engage the enemy.”

He turned to the Iranian, and saw he was still wearing his night vision equipment. Jackson reached out, and pulled the goggles from his face, dislodging the headset. His vision would take several seconds to recover from the enhanced flash of light.

Allen came on the net. “The men have stopped, and are spreading out. I can hear orders being shouted.”

Jackson switched to the channel he used to talk to the Iranian. “Do you know who the men coming toward us are?”

There was a delay, and the reply came back. “Yes, they are Iranian Revolutionary Guards and their local allies.”

“Can you tell them we are friends, and they must leave?”

“If I tell them we are friends, then they will certainly come. It is the way here.”

“Can you stop them?”

“If they know it is me, then they will want to come, and ensure that I am safe. They think I am important to them.”

“Jackson, the men are advancing across a front of two hundred meters. I see more men coming from the village. The closest are three hundred meters away.”

Razmara shouted, “I've found it.”

Chapter 48

Chapter 46

2005-12-05T21:27:00.000-08:00

The village of Soosin, Azerbaijan
April 13, 2006, 1730 Local Time

The goat stew was good, the pita bread fresh, and the tea hot and sweet. There were no signs of a government presence in the village.

Everyone he spoke to understood his Farsi, but the Farsi they spoke in reply was more like a dialect containing unfamiliar words, and was difficult for him to understand.

Razmara struck up a conversation with the proprietor of the eating-place, by asking him why nobody lived beyond the rocky ridge.

The man replied, “One night thirty years ago in the spring thaw, the river became blocked with ice, and the whole area beyond the ridge flooded very quickly.

“The gap where trail went through the ridge, became the exit for the water. He remembered as a boy watching the full force of the river in flood, channeled through that narrow gap. A brown and white torrent at least twice as high as a man carried the bodies of people and animals, as well as broken household possessions and farm equipment through the gap, depositing them on the other side as the force of the water dissipated.

“The ice jam broke with a screeching and heaving sound, and the water receded. He was one of the first through the gap, and could see the water had been higher than the roofs of the houses, and had washed everything away. Only a few stone walls remained standing. Many people died in the small village. Only a few survivors made it to the safety of the ridge or the high ground of the valley side.

“You can still see the ruins beyond the ridge. The survivors abandoned the village, moved here, and no one has lived there since.

“People say the place is haunted.”

The man said this in a way that suggested he believed it.

When Razmara had finished eating, he asked for, and received, dried fruit, bread, and a plastic bottle of tea to take with him. He paid in Azerbaijani manats.

He was about to leave when a man wearing traditional clothes came up to his table, and sat down. The man asked him in good Farsi, if he had come from Iran. Razmara knew in a small isolated village the presence of a stranger, and a description of him, including the direction he had arrived from, would be immediately telegraphed to everyone who mattered. He saw no point in denying it, and answered, “Yes.”

The man leaned close to him, and pulled Razmara’s coat open to expose his pistol in its regulation Guards holster. He glanced at the pistol, smiled, and quietly said, “Department of Liberation?”

“Revolutionary Guards.”

“What have you brought for Iran's friends here?”

Razmara asked, “Who are you?”

“I represent the Provisional Islamic Government of North Azeristan.”

Razmara looked around, and saw a group of men standing at the entrance of the eating-place. Two of the men were openly carrying Kalashnikov rifles. Another had a pistol shoved into the sash tied around his waist. The only other customer of the humble establishment had gone. His meal left half eaten.

The man continued, “During the winter we liberated this whole area, and drove out the government forces. Those we did not kill, that is. We are waiting for supplies, arms and money to continue our campaign. We have plenty of recruits, thirty alone in this village and another two hundred from nearby villages, but not enough guns to arm them, even with those we captured.

“We were promised many men and weapons this spring when the mountain passes opened, but when the Arabs came a few days ago, we were afraid the government of Iran had abandoned us, and decided to support the Sunnis instead. Then, before we sent them onto Lerik where there is a Sunni population, the Arabs told us you would be coming in a few days.

“We have been waiting for you. Welcome! We are very happy to see you.”

The man displayed a broad smile of genuine pleasure at Razmara's arrival in the village, but Razmara knew he had to concoct a plausible reason to get out of there as soon as possible.

“My friend, I have come ahead of a large group of men with all the guns, ammunition and explosives you need. Money, also.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the bulky envelope containing the Azerbaijani currency, and placed it between them on the table.

“This is for you. I came to see if it is safe for my men to enter this village. I will return with the men and supplies tomorrow. Then we can start planning operations together, but now I must leave, and meet with my guard detail before dark because they are under orders to leave without me if I fail to return.”

Razmara thought that should convince the man to let him leave immediately. Even a fool should be able to figure out that delaying him leaving would delay arrival of the men and guns he wanted.

“Then you must leave immediately my friend. Be assured, this village is safely in our hands, as well as all the countryside around for twenty kilometers. To make certain we are not attacked, we post guards around the village, so you and your men must be careful if you move at night. If you encounter our men, the password is 'unity'.”

The man took the envelope, and rose from the table.

“We meet again tomorrow. God willing.”

“God willing.”

Razmara shook the proffered hand and left immediately. He needed to reach the bridge, and find a place to wait, before it got dark.

It took him less than ten minutes to reach the wooden bridge. The river had exited a short gorge through the rocky ridge, and was now deep and swift flowing. Trees lined the riverbank. He found a place where he could sit comfortably with his back against a tree, and see the bridge twenty meters away. He would hear and see someone calling, but at the same time remain concealed.

His stomach was full, and the sound of the river was pleasantly soothing. It was too early in the year for biting insects, and for the first time in several days, he felt relaxed and comfortable. He considered his options. He would keep the location of the bird secret until he had satisfied himself, he could trust these people who claimed to be Americans. It was his only real negotiating point.

Razmara checked his watch, six p.m., time to relax before the next step on the road to what he hoped was his new life. He closed his eyes, and quickly fell asleep. He awoke sometime later, and checked his watch, just after eight p.m. The only sound was the soft murmur of the river. He looked around, and could see nothing untoward in the pale moonlight. He settled in to wait.

Chapter 47

Chapter 45

2005-12-05T20:52:00.000-08:00

A valley in the Talish Mountains, Azerbaijan
April 13, 2006, 1500 Local Time

The Rangers made their way down the mountain valley without incident. The MAADS aerial vehicle had scouted the trail, and ensured no one was waiting to ambush the ambushers of earlier in the day. The Rangers generated considerable excitement in a group of children who watched them march straight through a cluster of houses on the way. The adults kept out of sight, and if there were hostiles in the area, they were keeping well away.

The Rangers arrived at the pickup location late in the afternoon. Two flatbed trucks and two buses were waiting for them. The vehicles were dirty, and looked in poor repair. The two waiting CIA operatives briefly conferred with Major Blacksten, before the NCOs gave orders to board the buses for the journey to the military airfield where the planes were waiting to fly them back to Romania.

Despite the CIA's assurances that the route was secure, Major Blacksten ordered armed details on each of the trucks, and a Ranger to ride shotgun beside the driver of each vehicle. The Azerbaijani drivers were instructed to travel in convoy, with one of the trucks in the lead, followed by the two buses, and the other truck at the rear.

Sergeant Jackson had carried the two bags containing the recovered MAADS equipment all the way from the ambush site. The one containing the steel encased computers was heavy, and he was happy to hand it over to the Lieutenant Paulish who would be responsible for ensuring the bags and camera got back to Nevada for analysis.

Jackson also handed him the Chinese sniper rifle, and asked him to send it to his home base. He thought for a moment the Lieutenant was going to ask where he got the weapon, but he accepted it without comment.

Jackson was about to turn away thinking the exchange was over, but he realized the officer was waiting for something.

“I need something else from you, Sergeant.”

Jackson recognized him as the officer who had handed them the IFFs, before they boarded the plane in Romania. The jerk was looking for a story he could tell in the officer’s club, about the time he faced down some D men. Jackson felt like telling him to shove the IFF where the sun don’t shine, but that would just result in the sniper rifle going mysteriously missing. Besides, he didn’t need the IFF any longer, so he unclipped it from his combat vest, and handed it over.

“Pasco, Allen, the Army Rangers want their property back.”

Both men had seen Jackson give his IFF to the officer, and did likewise.

As the Rangers organized themselves to board the vehicles, one of the CIA men took the three Delta Force soldiers to one side, and said, “I will brief you when the Rangers after the Rangers leave.”

Allen and Pasco retired to the shade of a large tree to strip and clean their weapons. Jackson joined them, even though he hadn't fired his weapon.

The Rangers boarded the buses, and the men assigned to the guard details, the trucks. One of the CIA men spoke into his radio, and two Azerbaijani police vehicles - Russian made four-wheel drives – that had been forming a roadblock a short distance away, drove up.

The small convoy started out, led by one of the police vehicles, and followed by the other. No attempt was made to disguise the fact they carried armed men.

Sergeant Jackson watched the vehicles drive slowly down the muddy track, the buses swaying from side to side as they went in and out of deep ruts.

The two CIA men came over to the three Delta Force soldiers, and led them to a Nissan four-wheel drive whose local driver was standing outside the vehicle smoking a pungent smelling cigarette. One of the CIA men spoke a few words to the driver who took a cardboard box from the back seat of the vehicle. He withdrew a short distance to beneath a tree, where he busied himself with the contents of the box.

The second CIA man took a short-barreled rifle from the vehicle, and stood guard a short distance away.

The other CIA man opened the rear door of the Nissan. He used a key, on a chain attached to his belt, to open a locked container on the vehicle's sidewall. He took out a briefcase, opened it with a second key, and took out a map.

The CIA man commenced the briefing, addressing his statements directly to Sergeant Jackson. Pasco and Allen stood on either side.

“I will give you your orders verbally. You are to undertake a covert mission to recover certain government equipment, and to take an Iranian defector into custody. If the defector does not have the equipment or refuses to produce it, then you will still take him into custody. If the defector endangers the mission or poses a threat to the safety of you or your men, then you are authorized to terminate the defector's life.

“You will not be in uniform, and the United States government will take no public action should you be captured by hostile forces. Do you understand these orders?”

Jackson answered, “Yes, I do.”

The two men on either side of him nodded their understanding.

The CIA man unfolded the map, and began to describe their mission. “The Iranian defector will be waiting just outside the village of Soosin. He will have in his possession some property belonging to the US government. We were told it was a 'bird', and that you would know more about it.”

Jackson said, “I do.”

If the CIA man expected him to say more, he gave no indication, and continued, “You will meet the defector at a footbridge located here, crossing this river. He should be waiting for you at 2200 local time. If he is not there, you will wait until 0400 hours before leaving for the extraction point. Report to us immediately, you contact the defector, or if the defector is not there.

“You will use 'oqab' as a challenge. The defector will respond with 'aftab'. Use of this password is proof of the defector's identity. We understand his name is Farid Razmara, and he is a Captain in the Iranian Revolutionary Guards.

“Please repeat the words 'oqab' and 'aftab'. If it helps you remember, 'oqab' means 'eagle' and 'aftab' means 'sunshine'.”

Sergeant Jackson repeated the unfamiliar Farsi words.

“The village of Soosin is less than fifteen kilometers from here, but it is more than one hundred kilometers by road, and very poor roads at that. Consequently, a helicopter will insert and extract you.”

“The helicopter will insert you here.” He pointed to a place on the map. “Two kilometers from the footbridge. We will be using a civilian helicopter. It’s a Soviet era, Russian-made helicopter, but we have an American mechanic to maintain it, and it's very reliable.

“The helicopter will be on standby to extract you. We will expect to extract you at the same location we insert you, but you can call the helicopter into a different location if necessary. You must not call the helicopter into a combat situation under any circumstances.

“If for any reason, the helicopter does not come, or you are unable to reach the extraction point, or if you are separated, then the backup plan is to return on foot to this location here, where someone will be waiting for you.

“Each of you will carry a locater beacon. If you are certain you cannot reach this location, you should activate your locater beacon, and we will endeavor to recover you, but we have limited resources, and if there are hostiles in the area, then it's unlikely we will be able to reach you. So it is imperative, you either utilize the helicopter extraction, or return to this location. The helicopter leaves at 2100 hours.

“Your call sign is Eagle One. Our call sign is Eagle Two.

“Do you have any questions?”

Sergeant Jackson looked at Allen and Pasco in turn, and both shook their heads.

The CIA man continued, “Here are your maps, clothes, and communication sets. The communications sets are Milspec, and set for a secure network that only we can listen into. I have been informed none of you speak Farsi, and as far as we are aware, the Iranian doesn't speak English, so I will act as translator.

“These are your emergency locater beacons. I assume you are familiar with their operation. These have a CIA modification, additional hidden batteries. Once they are turned on, turning them off, or even removing the batteries, has no effect, and they will continue transmitting for twenty-four hours.

“I've been told none of you speak Farsi.”

“Among the three of them they spoke four languages, but Farsi wasn't one of them.

“That's correct.”

“Here are an extra comms set and night vision equipment. You will need them for the Iranian.”

They took the equipment as the CIA man continued speaking.

“You must remove all clothing with Army or US government insignia, and give me all identifying documents, including your ID tags. You can retain your weapons and your packs as long as you remove any identifying marks. Also, remove any item of personal jewelry with an inscription.

“Here are Azerbaijan Government identity cards for each of you.”

He took three laminated cards from the briefcase and handed one to each of them.

“These passes identify you as foreign contract workers. The names and identity numbers are genuine, the dates of birth are not. The real owners of these passes are considerably older than you. We have told them to stay in their compound in Baku until we notify them they can leave. We also told them, if they don't follow our instructions to the letter, they can expect their contracts to be canceled, effective immediately.”

Pasco asked, “Are these as good as the real thing?”

The CIA man smiled. “They are noticeably better quality than the real thing, but any police or government officials you encounter out here won't know that. We had to come up with these at short notice, and didn't have time to degrade their quality.

“Make sure you memorize the name, date of birth, and address from the passes. Also, memorize the names on the other men's passes. The real holders of these passes arrived only a couple of weeks ago, so the fact you know little or nothing about Azerbaijan should not be a problem.

“Here is the situation in the area you are going into. There have been terrorist incidents across this whole district over the last six months, and a number of police and government officials have been killed.

“This valley is quiet now, and we believe the Iranian terrorists behind the incidents have congregated in the valley you are going into, so make sure you avoid any habitation or people you encounter. We flew over the insertion point this morning. It’s a large open meadow beside the river, and it's unlikely anyone will be around.

The CIA man took a canvas bag from the back of the four wheel drive.

“Here are unidentifiable clothes. I suggest you change now.”

The three Delta Force soldiers took the clean but worn clothing. It looked like the kind of stuff you would buy in a military surplus store.

“You will have to leave your helmets behind. They are too distinctive at a distance. You can keep your body armor, the jackets will hide them.

“We have arranged a meal, and you have four hours before the helicopter arrives. Relax. We will take care of security.

The meal of chicken and rice, prepared by the driver, was good, but the Russian-made cola had a strange metallic taste. After the meal, Jackson told Allen and Pasco to relax before a final briefing. It had been a long day, and all three managed to sleep.

Jackson's wristwatch alarm woke him, and he roused the other two men, as one of the CIA officers brought coffee over. The CIA officer went to get his own coffee, and then stood to one side, waiting to see if he was needed.

Jackson sipped his coffee as he outlined his mission plan. He then checked the other two men's packs to make sure nothing would identify them as US military. He asked Allen to check his pack.

Jackson reluctantly took off his watch, a gift from his father when he joined up, as it had his name inscribed on the back. He asked the CIA man for a watch he could use instead. The CIA man left, and returned a short while later with a cheap digital watch. Jackson gave him his in return.

The CIA man briefed them on their cover story. They were civilian contractors to the Azerbaijan government providing police training programs. They were here to reconnoiter the site of a planned night exercise for the border police, which they needed to do under realistic conditions.

He then got them to memorize a telephone number to call if they encountered difficulties with the Azerbaijani authorities. He also told them they should insist a Mr. Arifoglu at the Defense Ministry be called and notified of their situation, and gave them another number to memorize. Their cover story sounded plausible enough to Jackson. Although, if they fell into Iranian hands, a cover story was unlikely to do them much good.

The three men were ready and waiting, as the sound of a helicopter grew louder. It briefly touched down, and they climbed aboard accompanied by the two CIA men. The helicopter rose into the air, and Jackson watched the four-wheel drive vehicle and its driver recede into the distance.

Jackson had never been in a Russian-made helicopter before. It had a rough, unfinished quality compared to its American counterpart, and was noticeably noisier.

Through his night-vision, he watched the ground below for details the map wouldn't tell him; forests that would give cover to a man moving across country, huts and footpaths that indicated human habitation to avoid.

***

Twenty minutes later, Jackson, Allen, and Pasco were crossing a broad meadow on foot, keeping clear of the trees beside the river. With the night vision equipment, they would see anyone approaching them from a long way off.

When they were four hundred meters from where they expected to find the bridge, Sergeant Jackson signaled to the other two men to search the riverbank on either side. He didn't have the men to ensure the opposite bank of the river was clear. He would just have to trust it was.

Over the net, Allen said, “I see a man sitting against a tree by the river two hundred meters to our left.”

Jackson scanned the area through his night vision goggles, and found a faint image against the base of a tree.

Jackson said, “I see him. Allen, come up behind the target. Pasco, make sure the area beyond the bridge and up to the village is clear, then come back and ensure no one surprises us.”

A short while later Allen came on the net. “I'm in position. Target is still at the same location.”

Jackson waited for Pasco to report in. “Path to the village is clear. I'm now in position.”

Jackson said, “I am proceeding toward the bridge.”

Jackson walked slowly forward to the edge of the bridge continually scanning the area around him.

He stepped onto the bridge and could feel the slight give of the wooden boards under his feet.

“I'm ready to use the challenge.”

“Roger that.”

“Roger also.”

Jackson pulled the microphone away from his mouth and said, “Oqab, Oqab.” He waited, and then repeated, “Oqab, Oqab.”

Chapter 46

Chapter 44

2005-12-05T05:15:00.000-08:00

Rasht, Northern Iran
April 13, 2006, 0930 local time

Farideh Razmara had just walked the children to school, and was returning home through the vegetable market. The offerings were sparse this early in the year. She stopped at a stall to bargain over potatoes when something was thrust into her hand. She almost dropped it from surprise. Looking down, she saw a cellular phone with a piece of paper taped to it. Farideh looked up, but all she could see was the receding back of a man walking quickly away.

Farideh left the market, the phone still in her hand. As she walked toward her home, she resisted the temptation to read the note, and instead thrust the phone into her pocket.

As soon as she arrived home, she took the phone from her pocket, and tore off and read the note. It said, 'You will receive a call concerning your husband at 11:30 a.m. Be somewhere private.'

Farideh went to her and her husband's bedroom, and waited anxiously for the call. Farid had told her, he had a special assignment, and he would be away for at least a month, but it would be good for his career, and should get him his next promotion. As a wife, she had worried, but her husband had seemed confident.

Now she had received this mysterious communication. She debated throwing the phone away, but she knew if it was news of her husband, she must hear what the caller had to say.

The phone rang.

“Yes!”

“What is your name?”

“My name is Madam Farideh Razmara.”

“We have news of your husband, and we have a message from him.”

The accent was Kurdish.

“Your husband is well, but you should be prepared for bad news about him. You may be told your husband is dead.”

Farideh let out an involuntary cry.

“We assure you, this news, should you receive it, is not true. Your husband is alive and well, and visiting with friends, but we need you to answer a question from him. The question is 'what is the name of the old man?”

Her mind was a whirl of thoughts. Who are these people? Why are they calling me? Who is this old man they are asking me about?

She cried out, “I don't know, I don't know,” and began to sob quietly.

“Are you sure? It is important.”

“I don't know! Leave me alone! Please, leave me alone!”

“Ensure you dispose of this phone in a place no one will ever find it. Goodbye.”

Farideh sat with the tears rolling down her face listening to the disconnected call tone. What did her husband want from her? Who were these people calling her? Who were the friends her husband was with? Nothing made sense.

***

“Captain Razmara, come in.”

The sound of the radio woke him. He must have fallen asleep. Mist drifted through the still leafless trees. He felt refreshed. Although his stomach told him, he needed to eat. He hoped, by the end of the day, he would have a good meal.

“Captain Razmara, here.”

“Captain Razmara we have contacted your wife, and told her that you are well. We also asked her your question about the old man's name, but she did not give an answer.”

He felt relief, they had told his wife he was alive and well. Her not answering the question about the old man's name was unimportant. He had used it to test their sincerity. The voice continued before he could respond.

“Captain, do you have a map of the area? If you do, can you please take it out?”

“I have a map.”

He removed a map of southern Azerbaijan from his inside pocket, and spread it on the rock.

“Do you have a GPS receiver?”

“No, I don't.' He had left their only GPS set with his second-in-command.

“Then we will rely on your ability to read a map. If you follow the valley you are in, into Azerbaijan, approximately sixteen kilometers from your current location, you will find a village. On our map, it is called Soosin. Can you locate it?”

“Yes, I have found it.”

“There is a footbridge over the river, eight hundred meters beyond the village. Our people will meet you there, between 10 p.m. and midnight tonight. They will go the bridge, and call out 'Oqab'. You will reply with 'Aftab'. Only after you make this reply, is it safe to approach the men. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Please repeat the instructions. Once you leave this location we will be unable to contact you by radio.”

He repeated the instructions, and then, “What should I do if the men are not there?”

“You wait. They will come.”

“Then, what happens to me?”

“You will be taken to a safe place, and kept there for a few weeks. You will then be taken to America, where you will be paid a salary, and provided with a place to live.”

Captain Razmara knew he would be expected to provide information to the American government if these people were indeed Americans. This did not concern him. He knew that going to America meant becoming an American like the old man who often said with pride 'I am an American, but the Mullahs destroyed my American passport, and now I cannot go back.'

Now came the hard part of the negotiation.

“I will only come, and give you the bird if you bring my wife and children to America.”

There was a significant delay before the reply. “We can arrange for your wife and children to come to America, but you must understand we cannot force them to come and join you. After you meet with our people, and are taken to the safe location, you will be allowed to talk to your wife over the telephone, but it is up to you to persuade her.”

He found this statement comforting. It sounded like they were trying to tell him the truth.

“I understand.”

“Good luck, Captain Razmara.”

“Thank you.”

He put the radio in his pocket before walking back to the place he had hidden the bird. He retrieved it and hoisted it onto the familiar position on his back, and began to walk down the trail into Azerbaijan.

The mist had cleared to leave a warm spring afternoon, and Razmara enjoyed the easy, downhill walk through the wooded valley. He had a large amount of Azerbaijani currency, and he promised himself the best meal he could find when he reached the village.

At one point, the trail descended an almost vertical rock wall beside a waterfall, and he had to take care on his way down with only one hand free, as the other was holding the bird. Once he was past the waterfall, the valley was broader, and the trail ran on level ground away from the river.

He started to see signs of human occupation, clusters of sheep or goats and the occasional herder on the sloping hillsides, below the mountains that surrounded the valley. He wasn't concerned the bird would attract attention because at this distance, all they would see was a man carrying something on his back.

He passed small groves of apricot, walnut, and perhaps mulberry trees growing on terraces built where streams ran down to join the river. The trees were in bud at this lower and warmer elevation.

This was a greener and more verdant place than where he grew up, and he thought it was a nice place. He wondered if there were places like this in America. He decided America was a big country, and there must be.

He passed the ruins of some houses just before the trail went through a narrow gap in a rocky ridge that ran across the entire width of the valley.

Razmara grew up walking everywhere, and was good at estimating the distance he had traveled. He knew he was not far from the village.

As he passed through the gap in the ridge, he could see chisel marks on the rock wall that showed the gap had been cut by hand at some point in the past. From the other side of the ridge, he could see the village less than a kilometer away. Smoke rose from chimneys, and he could see people moving in the distance. It was time to hide the mechanical bird. It would attract too much attention, and he didn't trust the people who claimed to be Americans.

He went back along the trail until he found a way to ascend the ridge, and then climbed up. He soon found what he was looking for, a wide crack in the rock. He carefully placed the bird there. When he returned to the trail, he memorized the location, so he would recognize it when he returned, then continued down the trail in the warm spring sunshine.

He was ravenously hungry, and spent the few minutes it took to reach the village, thinking about the foods he might find there, although he knew, he would be lucky to find an edible goat stew and fresh pita bread.

Chapter 45

Chapter 43

2005-12-05T05:06:00.000-08:00

A secondary pass in the Talish Mountains, Iran Azerbaijan border
April 13, 2006, 1100 Local Time

Sergeant Jackson judged the situation under control, and he could safely leave the equipment in his charge with the Rangers. He told Pasco, he was on his way to their position.

Jackson walked toward the mountainside, and then along the original Ranger positions on the right-hand side of the pass. He wanted to view the ambush that would have occurred without the fog.

He reached and climbed up to the ledge, greeting Allen and Pasco. The smell of cordite hung heavy in the air. Shell casings and empty magazines littered the ground. He could see blood smeared on the rock.

“Hell of a fight by the sound of it.”

Pasco gave a slight smile and replied, “Just a regular day at the Delta Force office.”

Jackson, accompanied by the two other D men, made his way down to the trail. He wanted to see the battle from the enemy's perspective. He inspected several of the bodies. None were wearing body armor.

The Rangers knew the three soldiers were D men, and no one intervened, or questioned what they were doing.

Jackson was a professional soldier, and as he reviewed the perspectives of both sides, he was looking for any lessons that might in the future save his life or the lives of his fellow soldiers. Could the Iranians have detected the ambush? Could they have put up an organized resistance once the ambush had started? Could the Rangers have laid out the ambush differently to better effect? How would it have been different without the fog?

Jackson went over to inspect the terrorist's weapons, now stacked around incendiary demolition charges. Jackson walked around the pile of weapons. There were the Kalashnikov AK47s, RPG launchers, and ammunition he expected.

The quantity of plastic explosive surprised him. There must be close to four hundred kilograms. That was a lot for a hundred odd men to carry. Enough to make scores of bombs big enough to demolish buildings. Combined with homemade ammonium nitrate and fuel oil explosives, it would make hundreds. These guys were planning to do some serious bombing.

Sergeant Jackson had seen the aftereffects of terrorist bombings; children with arms and legs blown off, women clutching dead babies, and old people desperately searching for missing relatives. Any sympathy he may have felt for the Iranians, as soldiers, evaporated at the sight of all those explosives.

Amongst the Kalashnikovs, Jackson saw four sniper rifles of a design he didn't recognize.

He went over to the demolition specialist supervising the stacking of the weapons, and told him he was going to take one of the sniper rifles. The Ranger nodded his head knowing D men just did things, and informing him was just a courtesy. Jackson retrieved one of the weapons. The rifle's stock had Chinese or possibly Korean characters. Jackson slung the rifle across his back. A more detailed inspection would have to wait.

A call came over the net for Jackson to report to Lieutenant Paulish at the Command Post. Pasco and Allen followed Jackson as he went to find the Communications Officer.

“Headquarters wants to talk to you.”

The Lieutenant handed him a secure communications set.

Colonel Saltvitz came on immediately, and asked about his mission.

Jackson replied, “All mission objectives achieved, sir.”

“Well done, Sergeant. I have another mission for you, and Sergeants Pasco and Allen. It's covert, and requires you recover classified equipment.”

The briefing took ten minutes. Sergeant Jackson made notes, and then read his notes back to check their accuracy.

He went to inform Major Blacksten of his new mission, although not the details, and then took Allen and Pasco aside.

A civilian helicopter flew over the pass from the direction of Azerbaijan. The medics made the injured ready, and four men carried the body of the dead Ranger to the landing site.

***

Jackson relayed the Major's request for surveillance over the Ranger's route to their extraction point. As he waited for the response, he thought the aerial vehicle must be low on fuel, and he expected the answer to be 'no'.

The reply said the vehicle would provide a one time survey of the route, which would be complete in approximately an hour. Jackson went to explain to the Major.

The Rangers formed up ready to move out, with the prisoners toward the rear of the column, their hands still bound with the plastic handcuffs. Like all prisoners, they looked scruffy, disheartened, and poor specimens of both men and soldiers. In contrast, the Rangers moved purposely about their business, looking the professional soldiers they were.

A demolition squad would stay behind until the main force was clear before destroying the captured weapons, and then form a rearguard.

The Rangers left behind the twin messages of dead and injured men, and burnt and destroyed weapons. The intended recipients of these messages were the next group of terrorists who used this pass to enter Azerbaijan, and through them, the government of Iran.

Chapter 44

Chapter 42

2005-12-05T04:54:00.000-08:00

A secondary pass in the Talish Mountains, Iran Azerbaijan border
April 13, 2006, 1030 Local Time

Pasco heard Jackson's voice over the net. “Approximately thirty terrorists on the left moving back toward Iran. They should come into view of the men on the ledge shortly.”

Pasco was busy with their own problem. One of the terrorists had climbed the opposite side of the pass, and was above the fog. He was putting single shots on their position. The shots weren't that accurate, hitting the rock face behind them, but everyone was keeping down.

Pasco switched to his telescopic sight, and found the man's position. At first, he thought the man was moving from one side to the other of a large rock almost directly opposite. He now concluded there were two men alternately firing single shots.

Allen asked, “Pasco, why can't you shutdown that sniper?”

“I'm pretty sure there's two, and they know enough not to expose themselves for more than a couple of seconds, so I can't get a good shot.” Pasco added as an afterthought, “The accuracy of these short-barreled M4s ain't too great either.”

Pasco knew this was an impasse. Two sets of snipers beyond the effective range of their weapons. It would go on, until one side got a lucky shot, ran out of ammunition, or some other factor came into play. Pasco studied the enemy sniper's position. It looked like a large rock slab had separated from the mountainside, and left a gap where men could hide.

Major Blacksten came on the net for the Ranger Sergeant. “The terrorists are retreating toward Iran. I want them stopped.”

“Sir, we are trying to deal with a sniper problem. Everyone is keeping their head down until we do.”

“What's your visibility?”

“The pass is still mostly fog-covered.”

“Sergeant, if you cannot target the terrorists from your current position then I want you to move down onto the pass and intercept them.”

Pasco heard the exchange. The Major wasn't out here taking fire. Jackson was with him. Maybe he could explain the real situation to the officer.

“Jackson, it's Pasco. Can you tell the Major we need to solve the sniper problem, and going down into the fog is the wrong thing to do? There are still enemy down there.”

“What do you propose I tell him?”

Pasco summarized the situation for Jackson. “We could target their position with the SAW. That should stop the sniping long enough to deal with the retreating terrorists.”

“The terrorists should be in view of your position very soon. The last Intel update put them three hundred fifty meters away.”

“I can't see them yet, but we're keeping down because of the sniper.”

“What's the fog like?”

“Still covering most of the pass, but breaks are more frequent. With luck, we can hit them in a break in the fog.”

“I'll tell the Major to wait until the terrorists are directly opposite your position, use the SAW to suppress the snipers, and simultaneously target the terrorist column when they enter a break in the fog. It will need coordination to make it work, but it's a better option than going down into the fog.”

Jackson explained the plan to the Major and falsely implied the Intel source would help make it work. Once the terrorists were visible, either visually or through the IR scopes, MAADS was irrelevant. The Major agreed to the proposal without question. Jackson felt he was acquiring the aura of a magician.

Pasco took over the SAW. He checked the mechanism, and made sure the loader was ready.

The Rangers crawled forward to positions at the front of the ledge overlooking the pass. They kept low in reaction to the occasional shots impacting the rock wall behind them from the still active snipers opposite.

Pasco alternately watched the clear patches drift across the pass and checked the progress of the column through his IR scope. It was like watching waves, knowing a pretty girl was walking down the beach. You want the perfect wave, you can surf right in front of her. but no wave was perfect, and you had to pick the one that took you closest to the girl.

The column was directly opposite their position hidden in the fog. Pasco picked his break in the fog, and watched it drift across the pass. He realized he hadn't got the timing right. The gap would pass too far to the left, leaving the front half of the column hidden from the Rangers.

“Allen, can you see the lead man?”

“I have him in my sights.”

“Tap him!”

A single shot echoed across the pass.

“He's down.”

Through his IR scope, Pasco saw the single shot have its intended effect. The column stopped moving.

“Five seconds!”

The clear patch moved over the stationary column of men exposing its full length in a sunlit island surrounded by white.

“Fire at will.”

Pasco delayed squeezing the SAW's trigger, in order to preserve the element of surprise for the Ranger's aimed rifle fire.

Pasco raked the column with a long continuous burst of fire, then switched the SAW's fire to the snipers position.

In the few seconds before the fog hid the column again, men fell dead, injured, or to escape the hail of bullets. Several broke into a run disappearing into the fog. Allen methodically searched for them. Only two made it out of range, and down the valley into Iran.

Fifteen seconds later, Pasco stopped playing the SAW's fire against the snipers across the pass, and inspected their position through his rifle's telescopic sight.

The pass was quiet except for the moans, and occasional louder screams of wounded men.

The SAW's rate of fire was intimidating, but ineffective against men in a protected position. Pasco saw a head appear and then disappear before he could get a shot. Thirty seconds later, a hand waved a grayish white rag, and then a man appeared from a gap in the rock, followed shortly afterwards, by a second man. Pasco got on the net to warn people what was happening.

Lieutenant Armstrong called for surrender with his PA at maximum volume. Pasco watched the snipers came down from their position and join a handful of men trudging through the fog toward the electronically amplified voice.

***

Jackson knew the Iranians were finished as an organized military force, but fanatics still posed a risk.

Lieutenant Armstrong continued broadcasting instructions in Farsi to surrender. “Men who walk toward my voice, without weapons or packs, with their hands up, will not be harmed.

Four men appeared from the fog with their hands up.

Lieutenant Armstrong continued to repeat his call for surrender at intervals, but no more men came forward.

The Major looked like a man on the winning side. Jackson knew, now was the most dangerous time when men relaxed their guard. Men who thought they had won, could act recklessly. He wanted to stall until the fog cleared.

“Major, I'll get the surveillance asset to do a full survey of the pass. There may be some pockets of resistance left.”

Twenty minutes later the MAADS update came through, and Jackson said, “Major we can use the Intel to clear the pass systematically. ”

Jackson requested that MAADS continue surveying the pass and report any men on the move. He then wiped all his previous markings off the Major's map and plotted the new locations.

“Major, I suggest you start planning how you will clear the pass. I've asked the Intel source to concentrate on any men on the move. Men not moving we should assume are either dead, incapacitated, or ready to surrender.”

“What about suicide bombers waiting out there?”

“Look at things from the enemy's perspective. All they know is they have been hunted in the fog, by an enemy who always knew where they were. They must be demoralized. It will take a man time to prepare to kill himself. If the Rangers come at them quickly and aggressively out of the fog, they can neutralize them before they have time to prepare.

“I've requested the surveillance asset concentrate on men on the move. Pasco and Allen should be able to deal with any trying to retreat into Iran. If any men on the move get close to the Ranger squads, I'll let you know.”

The Major immediately grasped how he could use the Intel to perform targeted sweeps through the fog, and started to plot search boxes on the map.

Within minutes, the Rangers moved out of their positions around the command post. Each squad was given a GPS location and told what to expect there. This was the most dangerous part of the operation, moving through the fog, separating men from weapons, and the living from the dead.

Jackson thought the fog, which could have caused things to go disastrously wrong, had become the Ranger's friend, as they moved unseen, finding, searching and securing men, one and two at a time.

***

One of younger Rangers on the ledge, adrenaline still pumping after his first combat said, “Sarg, I heard the D man say two of the terrorists escaped the ambush. Are we going after them?”

The Sergeant replied, “Soldier, when the US government sends us on a mission like this, it's not just to achieve some military objective, it's to send a message. You can think of those men running away as Uncle Sam's messengers.”

“Will they know it was Americans did this?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes the message is meant to be ambiguous. Anyway, soldier, we have a job to do. Our orders are to clear the area below our position then link up with the men advancing up the pass. Search every man thoroughly. Don't matter, if he is dead or alive. Take any papers you find to Lieutenant Armstrong.”

The Sergeant led the Rangers down from the ledge, and Allen directed them to the locations Jackson had identified. They found one man still alive.

As the Rangers made their way down from the ledge, the young soldier wanted to check the effect of the three-round burst he was certain had hit his target in the upper torso. He had watched the man drop like a sack of potatoes, and knew exactly where he was.

The bearded man was dead, his left arm partially severed, and his upper body a bloody mess. The young soldier knew a man died almost immediately from those kinds of wounds.

He searched the body for weapons. The dead man had an RPG launcher slung over his shoulder, and a Kalashnikov rifle lay beside him. In the man's pack, he found a substantial quantity of plastic explosives with Chinese characters on the packaging. He took the material he had found to the demolition specialist who was organizing the captured weapons and munitions for disposal.

The Army Rangers separated the uninjured and lightly injured, and put them under guard on one side of the trail. They made the prisoners sit on the ground before their hands were bound with plastic handcuffs, and hoods placed over their heads. Farsi speaking Army Rangers questioned them to establish who were the officers, and if there were any other people of interest.

Medics moved among the seriously wounded men, who lay where they fell, administering emergency medical aid. Their orders were to leave anyone who could not walk for their own side to recover. That would be a death sentence for most of the wounded men who would not survive the day. Medics applied field dressings to wounds, and administered morphine to the seriously injured. Others left food and water for the injured men.

One of the men, when he heard English spoken, called out 'American'. Another whispered, 'Help me!' Everything else the men said was in a language most of the American soldiers didn't understand. Those that did speak some Farsi assured the wounded men they would come to no further harm. None of the Rangers understood Azeri.

The reports were tallied, and sent back to headquarters. Forty-one enemy dead, nineteen wounded, six of those seriously. Thirty-nine men captured with no or minor injuries. An estimated fifteen men escaped the ambush. One Army Ranger killed, and ten men injured, two of them seriously.

Headquarters came back with “Our Intel says fourteen men escaped the ambush, and are already well away from your position. They represent no further threat. You are ordered not to pursue.”

Major Blacksten marveled at the precision of the intelligence. He wanted to ask Jackson where it was coming from, but was sure he wouldn't get an answer. He concluded it must come from a fancy new satellite. But that left the mystery of how a D man could be involved in satellite reconnaissance.

Chapter 43

Chapter 41

2005-12-05T04:20:00.000-08:00

A secondary pass in the Talish Mountains, Iran Azerbaijan border
April 13, 2006, 1000 Local Time

Jackson listened into the Command Post net. The casualties from the suicide bomber had been treated, and the latest report had come through from headquarters. Seventeen terrorists had retreated back into Iran. The rest were still on the pass. Twenty-eight hadn't moved in the last five minutes, and were assumed dead or incapacitated. The remaining eighty-two men were in positions strung along the pass. The intelligence said they were congregating in two areas. One was directly below the sniper's position. The other was in the center of the pass approximately four hundred meters from the command post.

Major Blacksten asked Jackson whether they could get more specific information from the classified source.

“Sir, they are giving you a summary of the data available. If you have a specific question about the disposition of the enemy forces, it should be able to provide an answer within minutes.”

“The fog looks like it's clearing, and I'm considering deploying men in positions on our right. We need to know the current disposition of any enemy in that area.”

Jackson was no weather expert, but he thought the Major was indulging in wishful thinking. His assessment was the fog was just as thick.

“Because I understand the equipment's capabilities, I suggest you let me phrase the question.”

“I'd appreciate that, Sergeant.”

Jackson knew that somewhere Charles, Fiona and Richard would be monitoring the images produced by the aerial vehicle. If they knew a request came from him, there would be a personal motivation to respond, but Delta Force were not in the business of advertising their location. He would send the request under the Major's name.

Jackson said, “I need to know where you intend to insert the men.”

The Major pointed to a narrow rectangle draw on his map, adjacent to their current position, and stretching diagonally across the right-hand side of the pass for seventy meters. Jackson noted down the GPS boundaries of the box.

Jackson asked, “How long it will it take to get the men in position?”

“We'll be ready to go in fifteen minutes, and take about ten minutes to occupy the new positions, assuming we don't meet resistance.”

Jackson picked up the Army issue handheld computer to formulate the request. They were using the same chat software the MAADS team used. 'We need the current locations of any terrorists in and around the area bounded by the GPS locations that follow. We also need, as close to real time as possible, data on their movements. We need this data starting as soon as possible, as current as possible, and continuing for the next thirty minutes.'

Jackson hit the send button, transmitting the request to the Rangers headquarters in Romania. Someone there would hit the forward button to send it to wherever the MAADS team was. The delay should be minimal.

He'd tried to communicate the need for timely information, without implying any criticism of the process used to get the information to them.

Jackson wanted the aerial vehicle to overfly Pasco and Allen's position, but that would have to wait.

Jackson had years of practice at staying alert, analyzing what could happen, while he waited. The fog swirled around him and without the IR scope, his visibility was reduced to a few meters around him.

He used a gap in the fog to search for the aerial vehicle. He found it over the center of the pass, flying toward the GPS location he had provided, and much higher than it normally patrolled. He wondered how they were communicating with it. Perhaps a light aircraft just to the east of the mountains.

He visualized Fiona sending the commands to relocate the aerial vehicle, the vehicle searching for targets in its new surveillance area, and then transmitting the target tracking data to the control unit from where it could be downloaded. Fiona had once tried to explain to him how to interpret the data, and showed him screen after screen full of numbers. Eventually, he had said to her, 'Just tell me what it means'.

Less than ten minutes later, the response came back - GPS locations for five men. A note said they would minimize the delay in providing updates.

He relayed the response to the Major, who asked, “Can I rely on the accuracy of this information?”

Jackson looked the Major in the eye. “It's very important you, and all the men involved, act on this information. It will keep men alive.” Jackson put a heavy emphasis on the word 'will'.

The Major huddled with his officers, and shortly afterwards informed Jackson they were going to mortar the area to see if they could clear the terrorists out before inserting the Rangers.

Jackson heard the fourth mortar round pass overhead, and impact the area to his right. He waited for the MAADS update. Three IR targets remained in the designated area. None of the three had moved since MAADS started monitoring the area.

“Major, the area is clear, although you need to check what may be bodies at these locations.”

A squad of Rangers made their way through the fog. The Corporal in the lead couldn't decide whether he wanted the fog to clear so he could see what was ahead, or to thicken so the enemy couldn't see them. All they found were the three bodies they had been told were there.

***

Major Blacksten turned to Jackson. “Sergeant, we need to flush the terrorists out and get them on the move. Any suggestions on how we can use the surveillance asset to do that?”

Jackson responded, “What's the mortar situation?”

“We are down to fifteen rounds.”

“We could use it to locate any enemy concentrations and use the mortar for harassing fire.”

“Please proceed, Sergeant.”

The reply came back within minutes, and Jackson relayed it to the Major.

“There are two concentrations. One of approximately ten men is close to the snipers' position. The other of approximately forty men, is spread over sixty meters of the trail between these coordinates.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

A short while later, Jackson heard a single mortar round pass overhead and detonate. He waited for the update from MAADS. “Major, the mortar was on target, and has resulted in more men moving to the impact area.” Jackson knew, this indicated casualties, but it was up to the Major to decide what to do about it.

Major Blacksten didn't hesitate. “I want another two rounds at the same location.”

Jackson waited for the update from MAADS. At least ten men not moving. Others dispersing into small groups. One group was moving directly toward their position, and appeared to be more cohesive than the others.

“Major, the concentration has broken up, and most of the men are on the move, in this direction.”

The Major looked grim. “We wait to see what they do next. Sergeant, make sure we keep getting those Intel updates every sixty seconds.”

While Jackson waited for the next MAADS update, he thought the process would be much more efficient and timely, if he had some kind of computerized map. He would draw a line around an area, and the software would convert it into a request to the aerial vehicle to search that area. As it found targets, they would pop into view, and then move across the map, according to how the tracking software predicted the men would move on the ground.

The system could show targets it had just found as bright red that faded to pink as they became predicted positions. Because the aerial vehicle flew autonomously, it wouldn't need a specialist operator. Jackson imagined something you could teach the average soldier to use in a couple of hours.

When the next update came through, it was like the previous one - locations of individuals pinpointed. He went to the Major's large-scale map, plotted the positions he had just received, then the previous set of positions, and finally a new set that came through as he marked up the map.

“Major, take a look at this.”

He had Major Blacksten's immediate attention. “Yes, Sergeant.”

“I've been plotting the positions we are getting from the Intel source, and they show the terrorists are moving toward our position in two loose formations, one on each side of the pass, and off the trail by about thirty meters. It looks to me, like they are trying to move into Azerbaijan by outflanking any defensive positions on the trail.”

Jackson refrained from observing that without the MAADS intelligence and his analysis, the group on the left could well have succeeded.

Major Blacksten said, “We have to hit the group on the right before it reaches the men waiting in position.”

***

Specialist Jablonsky had moved forward with his squad after the casualties from the suicide bombing had been moved awaiting the Medevac. It wasn't a good feeling to move into a position a dead man had just occupied.

He heard on the net, the terrorists were moving toward their position. The mist was still patchy, and visibility could suddenly reduce to five meters. He prayed that no more suicide bombers were waiting out there.

Lieutenant Armstrong was to his right with a small portable public address system. His bandaged head and arm in a sling showing where he had been wounded in the suicide bombing.

Jablonsky heard the Corporal say they had the men in view. “Definitely armed.”

The blowing mist suddenly became thick fog again, and visibility dropped to a few meters.

“We've lost them in the fog.”

Jablonsky asked the Corporal, “What should we do?”

“Sit tight, stay alert, and wait for orders.”

“I hear someone's got an IR scope that can see through this stuff.”

“That was Watkins. Got killed by the bomber. Ruined the scope too.”

***

Jackson plotted the next set of coordinates on the map. The group on the right was going to run straight into the Ranger positions on the right-hand side of the pass. Not good in the fog.
His attention was drawn to two pairs of men who appeared to be heading directly toward the Ranger's main position. A single pair, could be men who had lost their way in the fog, but the symmetrical positioning of the two pairs on either side of the trail, seemed to speak of a planned and coordinated action.

“Major, this may be trouble.” Jackson pointed to the positions marked on the map.

Major Blacksten immediately grasped the significance. “You think, more suicide bombers?”

“It's an obvious tactic sir. Send a couple of bombers against our front, and allow the rest to pass on our flanks.”

“What's the time delay on the Intel we get?”

“There was a note saying approximately sixty seconds, sir. The last update put them a hundred meters away, which means they could be fifty meters away or even closer.”

Major Blacksten ordered fire from the Ranger's forward positions. A curtain of rifle and automatic weapons fire swept through the fog, followed within seconds, by a massive explosion. This time far enough away, it caused only minor injuries.

Jackson sensed the tension in the voices he was hearing over the net, as men waited for the next suicide bomber.

The next MAADS update was delayed. It came through with a note saying the disappearance of two of the targets might be due to a technical problem. The second pair of men had stopped forty meters out. The information was relayed to the Ranger's forward positions, and a steady fire aimed at the location of the two men.

The next two MAADS updates showed the two men in the same position. Jackson said to the Major. “Those two men haven't moved in three or four minutes. My guess is they are dead, or wounded, but you need to send men to confirm that.”

Major Blacksten nodded his head. The surveillance asset's ability to exactly position the enemy in the fog was turning what could have been an impasse or worse in their favor.

A squad moved forward into the fog toward the GPS location provided by MAADS. When they were twenty meters short of the location, the Rangers threw grenades. Jackson counted eight.

Two further MAADS updates had the men still not moving, almost certainly dead.

The Rangers found the bodies. Jackson heard a discarded pack was a short distance away. It looked like someone had changed their mind.

Neither of the two main groups of men had moved in the last five minutes. Jackson assumed they were waiting for some signal. Perhaps it was the sound of the second explosion. The Major looked in Jackson's direction. He interpreted the look as a request to suggest what to do next.

“Sir, we know where the terrorists are, but they probably have only a vague idea of where our positions are. I propose we use that to our advantage.”

Major Blacksten waited for Jackson to continue.

Jackson said, “We tell them they are surrounded, and to surrender.”

“Do you think it will work, Sergeant?”

“It might, and the alternative is close quarter combat in the fog waiting for suicide bombers.”

The Major summoned Lieutenant Armstrong, and the three of them decided on their ultimatum to the terrorists.

Lieutenant Armstrong took his PA system, and moved back to the Ranger's forward position.

His message in Farsi echoed across the pass. “We have you surrounded. The Shahids - the suicide bombers - are dead. If you do not surrender, we will attack your position with artillery.

“You will surrender by laying down all weapons, packs, and ammunition. Remove your outer clothing, pull your shirt over your head, raise your hands in the air, then walk toward the sound of my voice.

“Anyone who does not follow these instructions will be shot. You have two minutes to comply.”

Lieutenant Armstrong repeated the ultimatum with a one minute deadline.

The Rangers waited anxiously to see if their deception worked. Figures with shirts pulled up and hands in the air appeared out of the mist. As they came into view, adrenaline charged men shouted in Farsi, 'stop', 'kneel', and 'lie down'. The surrendering men complied.

The Rangers search them for weapons and explosives, secured their hands with plastic handcuffs, and moved them to a holding area under guard.

The Intel said there were twenty-two terrorists in the group. Lieutenant Armstrong tried to keep a count of the surrenders. It was a hopeless task in the fog.

The next MAADS update showed all the enemy on their right had surrendered or retreated down the pass.

***

The Rangers were too far along the pass for Pasco to see. It made him realize how isolated their position on the ledge was.

Pasco gave Jackson an update, and concluded, “All it takes is one man with a good arm to get close enough, and we are in trouble.”

Jackson said, “I can do something to help you.”

“Like what?”

“I can give you the exact locations of all the enemy near your position?”

“You can do that?”

“Watch me, and watch that bird too.”

Pasco had lost track of the mysterious bird. He looked up, and saw it, high in the sky to his left. He shifted his attention back to more urgent matters.

“I need to reposition the surveillance asset and then wait for an update. I'll get back to you.”

When the MAADS update came through, Jackson marked the GPS locations on the Major's map, and then told Pasco their positions relative to the rocky ledge.

“There are eleven men in the rocks below your position.”

The number surprised Pasco. “You sure?”

“The technology can't differentiate the living from the recently dead, so some of those men may
not be alive, and the information is sixty seconds old. The closest are two men slightly less than fifteen meters out, approximately ten o'clock.”

Pasco inspected the area through his IR scope. He could make out a pink halo that indicated a heat source behind a large rock. He took a grenade, pulled the pin, and tossed it out beyond the rock. Pasco followed up with a second grenade in the same place.

“I'm ready for the next target.”

“There are four men more-or-less in line, twenty meters, at twelve o'clock.”

Pasco inspected the area through the IR scope. He found a pink heat source just out of view behind a rock. It was a situation where a sniper would normally wait patiently for the target to show himself.

Jackson came on. “You ready for the next target?”

“What's the hurry, man?”

“The surveillance asset can only be in one place at one time, and the Major wants it over the main group of terrorists. We have to do this quickly.”

Pasco repeated the tactic of two grenades on the location.

“OK, I'm ready.”

“The next two are definitely alive, almost four o'clock, up against the mountainside, and moving toward your position. The last Intel update put them twenty meters away.”

Pasco couldn't see the area to the right of the ledge from his current position. He started to crawl the short distance to the right-hand edge, passing around the Rangers lying prone on the ground.

He looked down on the fog as a round black object flew out toward him. It hit the rock just below him. He instinctively pulled back and tensed for the explosion, but there was only silence.

Before he had concluded it was either a dud or the terrorists had failed to arm it, Pasco had the IR scope up to his eye. He found both men immediately. One was in the act of throwing a second grenade. He dropped the scope, put his rifle up, flipped the switch to full automatic, and pulled the trigger firing blind into the fog at the remembered location of the two men. Pasco lowered the rifle, looking for the grenade. All he could do was shout “grenade”. The Rangers flattened themselves to the ground.

The explosion was in the fog below him. He didn't know whether the throw was short or the burst he fired, interfered with the thrower's action.

He put the IR scope back up to his eye. One man was lying in an unnatural position, indicating a violent death. The second was moving away. In a single practiced movement, he slid the scope onto the rifle's rail, raised the rifle, sighted, and shot the man in the back.

Pasco said, “That was close, but I got both of them.”

Jackson said, “The last three men are thirty-five meters out to the right, approximately one o'clock.”

Rocks in the way blocked Pasco's view.

“I can't see that area from my position.”

“Can you get grenades out there?”

“Maybe with a running throw, but we are keeping down because of fire from the terrorists.”

“Try rifle grenades.”

“It needs an indirect shot.”

“What else you gonna do?”

Jackson sensed Pasco's hesitation. “I need to move the bird away from your position. Sorry, man.”

“Can you locate more terrorists?”

“That's all, within fifty meters of your position.”

“Thanks, man.”

Pasco decided the best he could do was monitor the positions Jackson had provided.

Chapter 42

Chapter 40

2005-12-05T04:07:00.000-08:00

A secondary pass in the Talish Mountains, Iran Azerbaijan border
April 13, 2006, 0930 Local Time

The Ranger squad climbed up to the rock ledge carrying extra ammunition packs and grenades. One man carried a Squad Automatic Weapon. The Sergeant introduced himself to Pasco and Allen.

Pasco counted eleven men at their position, and the flat rock was almost crowded. He and Allen were at the front of the ledge with their spotters. Between them was the SAW with its two-man crew. The other Rangers were positioned along the sides of the ledge, and tasked with suppressing any enemy who may have identified their position.

Pasco was confident their position was secure against infantry assault, as long as they had sufficient ammunition. Their vulnerability was to indirect fire, or even a grenade would cause serious casualties on the flat rock.

Occasional clear patches drifted in from their right, taking twenty or thirty seconds to move across the fog-blanketed pass, before reaching the mountainside opposite.

Allen came on the net. “I can see them in the IR, two men, now four men, now seven, eight men. It’s on.”

Allen counted the men as they came into view, while Pasco tracked the head of the column.

Pasco heard Allen say the end of the column was in view. He kept a bead on the lead man.

***

The officers in the command post were dividing their attention between what they were hearing on the local net and the reports coming through from headquarters in Romania. The reports from Romania said the length of the column was three hundred meters. They would wait for all the men to come into view before triggering the ambush.

“Is the end of the column in view?”

The Ranger Sergeant replied. “The D man says to hold off. OK, we think that’s the last man. The count is one hundred and twenty-eight men.”

“That almost tallies with number our Intel says are coming.”

“Direction 2400. Distance one thousand meters. Fire when ready.”

“Shot over.”

Everyone in the pass heard the double ‘bang’ of the mortars firing. Most of the men in the column stopped in the fog listening as the mortars passed silently overhead. Some dived to the ground knowing what the sound meant. Rifle and automatic weapon fire bracketed the double detonation of the mortar rounds, and the sound of the next two mortar rounds launching.

Jackson listened, as the sounds of battle echoed down the pass. Single shots from M4's and the distinctive sound of Kalashnikovs, overlayed long bursts of fire from a Squad Automatic Weapon.

***

Pasco heard the sound of the mortars launching, and squeezed his trigger. He saw the infrared image of the lead man in the column go down. The SAW opened fire, and he tried to shut out the hammering noise in his right ear. He could see men running, looking for cover in the fog.

He turned to the nearest Ranger. “See that gap in the fog. Put fire in there. I don't want men who can see us, having time to organize.”

A single mortar was firing at approximately thirty second intervals and the rounds were landing far to his right. The tactic was to box the enemy in, and disrupt any retreat back into Iran.

Pasco started at the front of the column, and searched for men who were moving. At this distance he couldn't separate the dead from those who were merely lying still. Occasionally, he saw men running from one place to another. They made difficult targets.

He found enough men crawling along the ground, or trying to hide, to use a full magazine. He glanced to his right. Allen was still finding targets, and firing single shots. The SAW fired blind into the fog.

Pasco searched the fog-covered area in front of their position through his rifle's IR scope. Directly below him, and stretching for perhaps fifteen meters, was a jumble of rocks, then thirty or forty meters of mostly flat ground before the trail. He saw a single figure run diagonally in from the right. The figure made the protection of the rocks before he could get a shot. He was willing to bet more men were already there. Not only did it offer protection, it was clearly the place to stage an attack on their position.

He found one man partially hidden by the rocks, signaling to others out of Pasco's view. He could see only a part of the man's torso and head. Pasco fired, and saw the man react to what must have been a miss.

He could see the man's face in the scope's IR image looking directly at him. Faces had an exaggerated intensity in the infrared. Pasco was so sure the man could see him he looked over his scope expecting to see the fog had cleared, but all he could see was an uninterrupted blanket of white. Was it possible for someone in fog to see someone outside in sunshine, but the person in sunshine could not see into the fog?

Pasco checked the Rangers to his right. The two men manning the SAW were too exposed. They didn't need to be so far forward. He hit the loader on the shoulder, and pointed to the ground behind him. The man got the message, and moved back from the edge.

Rounds zipped through the air. At least one person out there had a good idea of their position. He started to search for him. He found the partially hidden man again, still directing men out of Pasco's view.

Pasco focused his rifle scope and waited until the man moved his position, exposing part of his torso to view, then shot him in the chest. This time the man went down. Pasco continued searching amongst the rocks for the shooter. Suddenly, a coordinated volley of automatic fire came from at least three different sources. He saw two men advance on their position, but didn't get a shot at either.

Trying to understand what was happening through the IR scope, was like trying to understand a football game by watching it through a telescope. You could see small pieces of the action really well, but could only guess at the big picture.

Pasco estimated the ledge they occupied was ten meters above the rocks below. Someone with a good arm, if they got close enough, could put a grenade on their position. He inspected the area immediately to his front. The ledge overhung the area directly below, and even leaning out to the point he felt exposed and at risk of falling, he still couldn't see directly down through the IR scope with it still attached to his rifle.

While, rationally he knew that it was physically impossible for a man underneath the ledge to throw a grenade onto the ledge, he found the idea that men could be hiding in a blind spot directly below him, deeply troubling. What you don't know will kill you.

In this kind of intense firefight with continuous rifle fire and grenade explosions, it was very easy to lose track of what was happening. He looked over his rifle sight to get a view of the pass. The fog still covered almost all of the flat ground. He turned to see what was happening on the flat rock. The sight of the SAW loader sitting in a pool of blood, and attended by the medic was unexpected. He had no idea the man had been hit. The Corporal had taken over his job, and was feeding the ammunition belt into the machine gun.

The Rangers on the sides of their position were firing blind into the fog. Someone needed to take control before they found themselves low on ammunition. Pasco called over the net to the Ranger Sergeant, and told him, they needed a tactical pause. The Sergeant ordered his men to stop firing, and the noise of battle died down.

“Allen, we need to talk.”

Pasco moved away from the edge. He then signaled to the Ranger Sergeant to join them.

Pasco addressed the Sergeant. “At this rate, we will start to run low on ammo, and if we do, the terrorists could storm our position. As long as we conserve our ammo, we can maintain our position, and as long as we occupy this position, we control the pass. Time is on our side.”

The Sergeant asked, “What do you propose?”

Pasco responded, “We stop firing down into the fog. Keep the Rangers in a defensive formation back from the edge to minimize casualties. Let Allen and his spotter continue attritting enemy numbers.

“Let's use the fog to our advantage. If we restrict ourselves to single aimed shots, the enemy will think the fog offers protection and expose themselves more. Single apparently random shots will seem less threatening than the heavy fire we have been putting down.

“I'm concerned, someone will get close enough to throw grenades up here. If they do, we are in trouble. We will have to send men down there to deny the position to the enemy. That would mean close quarter encounters in the fog, which is what we wanted to avoid in the first place.”

The Ranger Sergeant waited to see what else the D man proposed.

“If the enemy gets close enough to throw a grenade, I will be able to see him on the IR. Problem is, I've tried looking directly down with the scope attached to the rifle. It doesn't work. I'll need to detach my IR scope, which means I can't use my rifle, and my spotter will have to fire under my direction. I also need a supply of grenades.”

The Sergeant nodded his agreement. “I'll inform the rest of the men.”

Allen returned to his previous position, and started searching through his IR scope for a target. Pasco detached the IR scope from his rifle, and waited while the Rangers took up positions at the rear and sides of the rock platform.

The Sergeant handed Pasco a pack weighed down by the grenades inside. Pasco took it without comment. He got down on the ground, crawled to the edge, and looked down on the blanket of fog. When he put the IR scope to his eye, the uniform white changed into a scene of deep blues and light pinks. He searched for the bright red that indicated a living organism.

When he was sure there was no one directly below them, he began to search the rocks that stretched in a fan shape for about thirty meters out from their position. He found red, glowing between a narrow gap in two blue rocks about twenty meters to his right.

Pasco reached into the pack, and removed a grenade. He pulled the pin, and lobbed it out toward the man's position. He thought he saw a blue dot fall, and bounce off the right-hand rock. His view through the scope went completely red, and then a red ball rose above the scene. It was difficult to exactly locate an explosion viewed in the infrared. He guessed his throw was short. He removed another grenade, and threw it a little further out.

He had no way of knowing whether he had achieved a kill, but his objective was to deny the area to the enemy, and disrupt any preparations they might be making. He continued to search, and found his next target almost immediately. Two men were moving through the rocks, away from where he had thrown the grenades. He raised his arm to signal to the spotter, and then pointed at the two men. The Ranger came forward, and started firing three round bursts. Pasco saw both men look up toward his position before moving left into the cover of the rocks. He signaled, stop firing, with his arm.

***

Jackson heard Pasco's call for a tactical pause. All was quiet at the Rangers' main position, and He thought, it was likely, the terrorists didn't know they were here. A few minutes earlier, a group of men had tried to advance toward their position, and had been driven back by the man who had received Jackson's IR scope.

He now heard the same group of men were lying in a depression in the ground, and waving a flag. He heard the Farsi speaking Lieutenant Armstrong ask if it was white.

The soldier replied, “Sir, I got two colors, red and blue.”

Armstrong responded, “Hold your fire. They may be trying to surrender.”

“I see the man with the flag standing. A second man is also standing.”

“Are they armed?”

“Neither seems to be armed.” The soldier continued, “They are coming in this direction.”

“Are you sure they're not armed?”

“Neither is armed. One is holding a pack. That's all.”

Major Blacksten said, “Lieutenant Armstrong, tell him to stop, and drop the pack.“

The Lieutenant called in Farsi for the man to drop his pack.

“Sir, he's still coming forward, and he still has the pack. He's less than fifteen meters away.”

“Tell him to drop the pack or we shoot.”

“He's not stopping, sir. He's coming faster.”

“Shoot him!”

Two shots rang out, and the soldier watched the man drop to his knees, clutching his chest, and then fall to the side. The second man grabbed something out of the fallen man's hand, and the world disappeared into fire and sound. The soldier felt himself lifted, and thrown backwards like a truck had hit him.

***

Pasco heard the massive explosion, and felt the simultaneous pressure wave. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. The explosion seemed to act as signal to the men gathering in the rocks below him. An intense volley of rifle fire went over their position, and an RPG exploded against the rock wall behind them. He heard one man cry out that he'd been hit.

There was still organized command and control in the fog.

Pasco saw the bird high above him. It was flying a figure-of-eight pattern on the Iranian side of the pass. He assumed it was searching for the terrorists. He momentarily wondered what it could see, and whether he would change his tactics if he could see what it was seeing.

Chapter 41

Chapter 39

2005-12-05T03:57:00.000-08:00

A secondary pass in the Talish mountains, Iran Azerbaijan border
April 13, 2006, 0900 Local Time

Reports of the terrorists moving closer came over the net. Operating Procedures required the officers walk the same route as the enemy to ensure nothing gave away the existence of the ambush, but that would leave footprints in the undisturbed blanket of snow. They would have to rely on the soldier's professionalism to ensure surprise. The forward scouts had been brought back, and the reports coming in from headquarters in Romania were their only source of information on the terrorist's current location.

The Rangers were between eighty and one hundred meters from the trail, behind whatever cover was available. Their white winter warfare outfits camouflaged them against the snow-covered ground. Some of the men had built low walls of snow to hide their positions. Others lay behind rocks or in depressions in the ground. The men listened to the net, and waited.

The air became noticeably warmer, and the clouds enveloping the mountain peaks swirled lower. Banks of mist blew down the mountainside and across the pass.

Major Blacksten was furious. “Why weren't we told about the fog? What do the weather people say?”

“They say they have no information on local conditions, but mountain fog is to be expected with the passage of a warm front.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

The answer was a large bank of thick mist that rolled off the mountainside plunging most of the Rangers into a chill gloom, and hiding most of the pass, before drifting away leaving bright sunshine.

Jackson took out the Forward Looking Infrared sight he now habitually carried. Working on MAADS had convinced him of its value when visibility was poor. Through it, he could clearly see the closest of the Rangers in their positions on the right-hand side of the pass.

“Pasco, Allen, you got your IR scopes?” Both men did.

As the fog intermittently covered the pass, Jackson evaluated the effectiveness of his IR scope versus an optical sight. He gave himself ten minutes to find the men deployed parallel to the trail with his monocular scope. He found eleven out of sixteen. It took thirty seconds to find all the men in the IR. Some he couldn't see, but the thermal aura above their hidden positions was unmistakable.

Twenty minutes later, thick fog blanketed the pass, and Jackson said, “Let's go see the Major.”

The D man aura got them into the presence of the Commanding Officer. Jackson had been a soldier long enough to recognize when an officer was worried, and this was a worried man.

Major Blacksten greeted Jackson with, “Sergeant, You have sixty seconds.”

“Sir, I don't know how many of your men have infrared rifle scopes, but all three of us do.”

“None of my men do. How effective is infrared in these conditions?”

“Very! Would you like to take a look?”

“I'll take you word for it, Sergeant. What do you propose?”

“That Sergeants Pasco and Allen join the sniper team on the ledge.”

“And where will you be, Sergeant?”

“My orders are to ensure the security of certain classified equipment, and that precludes me moving out of the command post.”

“I agree to your proposal, and I'll issue the necessary orders.” The Major hesitated before continuing. “Sergeant, I have a question. I'm told you have some knowledge of the classified equipment monitoring the terrorists. How effective is it in these conditions? What I mean is, could it lose track of the terrorists in this fog, and allow them to reach our position undetected?”

Jackson replied, “The equipment is effective in mist and fog, but it's not 100 percent effective. It might lose track of one or two men, but it's unlikely to lose track of a significant body of men.”

“So, some men may get through undetected?'

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. Anything else?”

“Sir, you need to inform the Rangers in detail what's happening. Men moving around in these conditions is risky.”

“I understand.”

Major Blacksten was as good as his word. Detailed orders were issued saying the terrorists were not in view, and there would be men on the move. Everyone should hold their fire until further notice.

Pasco and Allen passed behind the Ranger positions. The mist ran down the mountainside in broad rivers, and while at times they were walking through thick fog, at other times they were in sunlit islands surrounded by drifting white. Transitioning from one to another was like leaving a dimly lit refrigerated room to enter a warm brightly lit corridor, and then entering another refrigerated room.

The D men climbed the steep rock face to the sniper team's position. It was above the mist, and they looked down on a blanket of white, interspersed with drifting clear patches.

The three-man sniper team had positioned themselves at the front of the flat rock ledge that jutted out from the mountainside, overlooking a sheer drop to the pass. The D men conferred with the Corporal, and agreed each would pair up with a Ranger to form two-man sniper/spotter combinations to utilize the IR scopes. The Corporal would provide security. They settled down to watch and wait.

Pasco got on the net and switched to the channel the D men had been allocated. “Jackson, it's Pasco.”

“What's the position like?”

“It's a flat ledge, well above the pass and above the fog most of the time. We can see the pass for three or four hundred meters in both directions. The IR scopes see right through the fog.”

Jackson responded, “Down in the fog, my IR visibility is much less, I estimate forty meters at most, but without the IR, visibility is restricted to a few meters. The whole thing could easily go to shit. Let's hope it clears before the terrorists arrive.”

Jackson and Pasco discussed the tactical situation, and what could be done.

“I'm going to talk to the Major again, and see if he will change his tactics. By the way, tell your lookout man to search for a large bird circling in the air in the direction the terrorists are coming.”

“A bird! You, serious man?”

“Remember the equipment I had trouble getting into the bag? Well, that thing used to fly, and when it did, it looked like a large bird. If you see that bird, the terrorists are probably directly below it.”

Jackson went over to the Major, and said, “Sir, the visibility is down to less than five meters. There are three men with IR that can see through this stuff. Those men are subject to separate orders. Those orders allow me to leave you and your men, if in my judgment, staying with you jeopardizes my mission.”

Jackson paused for effect. He had the Major's attention. It was now time to offer a solution.

“If the fog persists, your men won't be able to see the terrorists when they arrive. If you leave your men in position, you risk a series of a close-quarter firefights with a high probability of Ranger casualties. I have an alternative. Sergeants Pasco and Allen say their position has good visibility over eight hundred meters of the pass, and with the IR scopes they can see through the fog. I propose you pull your men back, reinforce the snipers' position, and turn the pass into a free-fire zone.”

Jackson waited to see the officer's reaction.

“What happens if enough of the terrorists make it through the killing zone and threaten our position?”

“If you setup a defensive perimeter, a small number of uncoordinated attackers shouldn't pose a serious threat.”

“And if this fog clears before the terrorists arrive?”

Jackson knew that was the flaw in his plan. “The men at the sniper position risked being cut off, but Sergeant Pasco tells me it's a difficult position to attack. If you reinforce it, and provide extra ammunition, it should be secure against infantry assault.”

The Major turned to the two officers with him, and then all three conferred with headquarters over the net.

“We will follow your suggestion, Sergeant. What do you propose to do?”

Jackson removed the IR scope from his rifle. “My orders are to ensure the security of the equipment I have in my possession. I suggest you find someone who knows how to use this.”

I'd appreciate it, if you stayed here, and offered your advice. That's if your orders permit it?”

Jackson smiled. “I don't think that would contravene my orders, sir.”

Jackson called to Pasco. “The Major bought it. You will have a free fire zone, more ammo, and a squad for security. What's the situation up there?”

“The fog seems to be getting thicker, but the wind is picking up. By the way, we think we can see the bird. It's very high, and about two kilometers away.”

“That means, we don't have long to wait.”

Within minutes, the maneuver was underway. The command post, and the main body of Rangers, moved five hundred meters back into Azerbaijan.

Chapter 40

Chapter 38

2005-12-05T02:23:00.000-08:00

Mihail Kogalniceanu Military Air Base, Romania
April 13, 2006, 0630 Local Time

Charles entered the project room feeling refreshed after his sleep, and intending to get a good breakfast at the earliest opportunity. He was surprised to find he was the last to arrive, and all the other members of the support team, including Captain Freedman and the Farsi speaking Lieutenant were already there.

He went over to Fiona, and asked how things were. She looked like she hadn't slept in a very long time. It had been primarily a question about her welfare, but Fiona interpreted it as a question about the aerial vehicle.

“The infiltrators are still at their overnight camp. No sign of them getting ready to move out.”

“Has the System B aerial vehicle refueled yet?”

“Yes, it went smoothly. The infiltrators must have just taken the bird, and not touched the rest of the equipment.”

“Is the System A aerial vehicle on its way?”

Fiona looked down into her lap, and her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “I fell asleep. When I woke up, the System B vehicle had already refueled. I wasn't sure if you still wanted the System A vehicle. Should I fly it in now?”

Charles thought, stress affected people in different ways. Some people it fired up, and made them more effective. With others it impaired their capacity to function, particularly to make decisions. Fiona was clearly in the latter group. Charles had trouble recognizing the articulate and assured woman he thought he knew.

Charles reassured her, “The refueling was successful. We don't need the System A vehicle. Not flying it in, turned out to be the right thing to do. I suggest you get some breakfast, find a quiet place to eat it, and then get some sleep.”

Fiona smiled weakly, and nodded in agreement.

Charles checked in with Richard. “What’s the status of System D?”

“Nothing significant to report. The robots are still at their ambush locations. Should we move one of them back to protect the control unit?”

They had discussed this late the previous evening, and Charles had referred the question to Captain Freedman.

“What does the Captain say?”

“He said, his orders are ensuring the security of the control unit is a priority, second only, to stopping infiltration across the pass, and we should pull one of the robots back to protect it, but to wait until I confirm with you.”

Richard added with emphasis, “It's just the standard military aversion to taking direct responsibility for anything.”

Charles ignored Richard's editorializing within Freedman's earshot. He recognized the Captain was just showing him respect as the Project Director and the person nominally in charge, even if Richard didn't.

“Captain Freedman is right about the need to protect the control unit. Move the robot.”

Richard turned to his keyboard, and began to type the commands to relocate the robot.

Captain Freedman was watching, and waiting for him to approach. “I heard you confirm my request to Richard. Thank you, Mr. Corrigan. I thought it would be a nice gesture if I ordered breakfast. It should be here shortly.

"The Ranger force is on the ground, and preparing for contact with the terrorists. We need to go over the plan for today, but first, it looks like we may have a problem with Captain Razmara. He hasn't answered our radio message this morning, and we are about to try again."

“Go ahead, Lieutenant Ryan.”

The blond Lieutenant spoke in Farsi. “Captain Razmara, come in.”

She repeated the request three times without a reply.

Charles asked, “Have you asked Richard to check the comms to make sure it’s working properly?”

“I was just about to.” Freedman didn't mention that he was waiting for Charles to arrive before tackling Richard.

Breakfast arrived, sausage and pancakes with two pots of coffee.

***

Captain Razmara had plenty of time to think during the long night. The lure of America fought with his desire to return to his family and the life he knew. Fear of what these people who claimed to be Americans would do to him, battled with his fear of the mystery killer machines.

By dawn, his love for his wife and children had beaten the lure of America. The fear of what might happen to him in the hands of these unknown people overcame his fear of the machines. He had decided to return home to Iran with the bird.

He stretched, trying to get the aches out of his stiff limbs. The sun was rising, and the clouds, covering the mountains on the opposite side of the pass, were lit in a pink glow. He started to move around on the narrow ledge, and his circulation slowly returned. He was hungry and thirsty, but drinking would have to wait until he reached a stream. He would eat a little of the bread, and save the rest, as well as the few pieces of dried fruit he had left, until then.

He was chewing on the bread when the, by now familiar, female voice issued from the radio. “Captain Razmara, come in.”

Razmara resisted the temptation to explain what he was doing and why. His thumb moved to the radio’s on-off switch, and pushed it into the off position.

He lifted the mechanical bird onto his back, and began to negotiate the steep, snow-covered slope down from the ledge where he had spent the night. He wondered how his men were doing. They should cross the mountain pass into Azerbaijan today.

Razmara reached the gently sloping pass, and followed his own footprints still clearly visible in the snow. When he reached the trail that led back to Iran and his home, he summoned his courage to face whatever had killed his men the previous day.

He walked slowly forward scanning the area in front of him in order to see whatever was out there before it saw him. He could see fifty or sixty meters ahead before the ground fell away hiding whatever was further away.

He had spent a portion of the night hours convincing himself he could find a way past the ambushers. He hadn't seen what had killed three of his men on the trail, but it must be another of those strange containers. If he could see it first, before it saw him, he should be able to find away around it, out of sight of its cameras. He had convinced himself, it could only kill him if it could see him.

Razmara walked past the place, marked by footprints in the snow, where they had first come down from the mountainside, and encountered the container with its camera eyes. The trail was out of sight of that thing, but still he looked nervously in its direction, while trying to maintain a survey of the ground in front of him.

Clouds rolled down the mountainside and occasional patches of mist blew across the open ground of the pass. Razmara was familiar with mountain weather, and knew within minutes, he could be enveloped in thick fog reducing visibility to a few meters. He decided to wait beside some rocks to see if the mist thickened, and hid him, before continuing.

He leaned against the rock, as the mist patches blowing off the mountain, became thicker and more frequent. One moment he would be wrapped in a chill white blanket, and the next burst into bright sunshine. A few more minutes, and the fog should be a solid blanket hiding him completely.

He once again burst in sunshine and could see for a considerable distance down the trail. What looked like a child-sized version of a four-wheeled motorcycle, suddenly appeared from out of a depression in the ground. It was coming directly toward him. Its cameras were rotating in the same way as the cameras on the container.

Thick white fog enveloped Razmara. Within seconds he burst once again into bright sunshine. In the brief time the fog hid him, the machine's twin cameras had found him.

For a moment, he thought the machine didn't have a weapon. The realization that it could see him through the fog occurred at the same instant he saw its weapon had been pointing backwards, in the direction the machine had come from, and was now rapidly rotating around.

He instinctively ducked behind the rock, then crouching to minimize himself as a target, he ran back in the direction he had come. He expected to be shot at any moment, but all he heard was the sound of his own breathing, and the slight noise made by the bird bouncing on his back. He was sure the wheeled machine was pursuing him. Perhaps, he could lose it in the fog. He ran straight past the place where he had walked to the side of the mountain the previous evening, and on into Azerbaijan.

Razmara ran for more than a kilometer down the valley, leaving the mist behind before stopping, out of breath, his heart pounding. He looked back up the trail, expecting the strange, wheeled machine to appear at any moment, but nothing came.

His decision of the previous night had been reversed. The machines could move, and they seemed to know he was coming. Perhaps, there was another mechanical bird up in the sky watching him. The purpose of the bird was now obvious to him. It kept watch for the machines. They could see him coming and there was no way past them.

Reluctantly, he reached into his pocket and switched on the radio.

Almost immediately he heard the woman's voice, but much fainter than before and with considerable interference. “Captain Razmara, come in.”

He pressed transmit and said, “Captain Razmara here.”

After a short delay, the female voice repeated the previous message. “Captain Razmara, Come in.”

He again pressed transmit, and said, “Captain Razmara here.”.

After a longer delay, the female voice had a new message. “Captain Razmara, please return to your previous position. You have moved out of transmission range. Please return to the last position you spoke to us. We assure you, the machine will not harm you, if you do not approach the container or try to return to Iran.”

There was no sign of the four-wheeled machine. He waited twenty minutes before deciding he would risk going far enough back up the trail to get within his radio's transmission range.

He needed to leave the bird to become more mobile. He found a place to hide it behind a large rock, and carefully placed the bird there.

As he cautiously made his way back up the trail, the adrenaline levels in his body subsided, replaced by an urgent thirst. He stopped at a small stream crossing the trail, sank to his knees in the snow, and drank like a dog, still keeping his eyes on the trail ahead. When he had drunk enough to slake his thirst, he continued up the trail, stopping every couple of hundred meters to see if the woman could hear his response to her continuing calls to 'come in'.

He walked almost to the pass itself, before he got a response.

“Reception is poor, but we can hear you.”

The female voice continued. “You need to be close to the place you found the bird, for us to hear your radio.” The voice quickly added. “Not too close, you understand. The thing you saw a short while ago is dangerous, and you must stay away from the place you saw it.”

Razmara resisted the urge to ask them how they knew about his encounter with the wheeled machine, and just responded, “Yes, I understand.”

“You must also understand the mist does not hide you. The machines can see through the thickest fog. You were very lucky to get away unharmed.”

Razmara had almost persuaded himself his earlier conviction, the machine could see him through the mist, was an irrational fear. But the way the voice so matter-of-factly told him the answer to the question he had debated with himself for the last hour was uncanny, as if they could read his mind, as well as watch his every movement. Being able to see through thick fog, suddenly seemed unremarkable.

“We need you to stay in radio transmission range until we make arrangements for our people to meet you. We will try to contact your wife today.”

Razmara didn't want to spend another day without food, and a cold uncomfortable night in this place. He felt a strange sense of relief that the machines, and his mystery caller, had made his decision for him. Now he just wanted to proceed with whatever he needed to do. “I have made up my mind. I want to give you the bird today.”

There was a delay before, “We will contact you as soon as we have made arrangements. Until then, please stay where you are.”

“The wheeled machine,” Razmara hesitated, “Will it come searching for me?”

“No, as long you stay where you are, and do not approach the place you took the bird, or try to return to Iran, you are safe.”

A part of Razmara's mind wasn't sure he believed what he was being told. Was it true, or just to intimidate him into not returning to Iran? Another part of his mind believed completely. He was dimly aware he had reached a point where he needed someone to tell him what to do in a situation so far beyond his experience.

Razmara found a rock he could sit against, and keep the trail in view. He lay back, chewed on dry bread and waited for the next development.

Chapter 39

Chapter 37

2005-12-05T01:39:00.000-08:00

Mihail Kogalniceanu Military Air Base, Romania
April 13, 0130, 2030 Local Time

The three Delta Force soldiers flew into the Romanian airbase on a GulfStream jet, arriving fresh after the unaccustomed luxury and the opportunity to sleep onboard. Jackson went to report to the Rangers headquarters, while Allen and Pasco checked their kit, and registered with the Jumpmasters.

After asking for Colonel Saltvitz, Sergeant Jackson was kept waiting, and then taken to an office where an Army Captain was speaking on the telephone. Jackson waited while the officer finished.

The Captain said, “Sergeant Jackson, you will meet Colonel Saltvitz shortly, but first, I am Captain Freedman, 75th Rangers headquarters staff. I have been informed of your mission to verify the status of some classified equipment.

“I need to stress that we are allowing you to accompany the Rangers as a courtesy, and your mission is in all respects secondary to the Ranger mission. As part of that mission, we are bringing in a replacement system for the destroyed equipment and you are required to ensure that there are no radio transmissions from the existing system that might interfere with the replacement equipment.”

The Captain had Jackson attention. He knew there wasn't a replacement system. “Where is the replacement coming from, sir?”

“I can tell you an aerial vehicle has been flown in from Azerbaijan, and is in position over the terrorists currently. More than that you don't need to know.”

Jackson said, “So, its just an aerial vehicle, no robots or control unit?”

He saw the Captain display the momentary disorientation that people show when they realize someone else is in possession of facts, they themselves don't have.

“An aerial vehicle will fly in, and a second vehicle will fly in to replace it when the first runs low on fuel. They will be controlled remotely, and you are required to ensure the existing equipment is no longer transmitting, as that may interfere with the equipment. That's all, Sergeant. Now, if you follow me, I'll take you to Colonel Saltvitz.”

Sergeant Jackson had taken a dislike to the Ranger Captain, who seemed to have an inflated notion of his own importance. He had assumed Sergeant Jackson had no direct experience of MAADS and was some kind of glorified janitor, responsible for cleaning up the pieces after an accident. The Captain obviously hadn't been told that Jackson had been selected for the mission because of his knowledge of the technology. Jackson saw no reason to enlighten him.

The MAADS team must have brought the two petrol engined aerial vehicles to somewhere in Azerbaijan and flown them in to provide aerial surveillance. Jackson knew those vehicles had the range to fly in from the lowlands, and then stay on station for several hours, although they couldn't use the control unit's automated refuel and launch facility.

After Jackson's briefing, Colonel Saltvitz had been left with the impression the soldier knew a great deal about the classified equipment. Sergeant Jackson had not volunteered the reason. In his experience, Delta Force rarely volunteered any kind of information.

***

The Army Rangers waited in line to board the pair of C130 transport planes. Each man wore a parachute, and carried a heavy pack and personal weapons. A number of men without parachutes, who would not jump, were waiting to load the heavier equipment, including the mortars. All the equipment had been checked and rechecked.

This would be a nighttime HALO drop – High Altitude Low Opening - the standard way of covertly inserting parachute troops. The men would land on a GPS location, with a hundred-meter latitude in where they landed. If they were off-target by more than that amount, then they were in trouble. Parachuting onto steep mountain slopes was a good way to break bones. Altimeters were set to show 1041 meters, the drop zone's elevation above sea level. This would ensure parachutes automatically deployed at the right height if the wearer didn't pull the ripcord.

One of the biggest risks in this kind of operation was landing on one of your own people. The men with the heavy equipment attached to them by long lines jumped first for this reason.
NCOs called orders, and the two columns of men began to move up the loading ramps of the aircraft.

Ten minutes later, the Rangers were aboard the aircraft. Fifteen minutes after that, the preflight checks complete, the first aircraft rolled forward to the runway, closely followed by the second.

***

The klaxon sounded inside the aircraft's cavernous interior, and the pre-jump warning light flashed. The men were already in position, as the Jumpmasters made their final checks of each person's kit making sure there was nothing that might tangle the parachute when it opened.
At a signal, the men put on their oxygen masks for the high altitude jump. The aircraft’s rear ramp lowered, and the green jump light came on. Men shuffled down the aircraft, and off the ramp into the night. Fifteen seconds later, only the Jumpmasters were left. The aircraft’s ramp closed, and it started a slow turn to the left, back toward Romania.

An observer in those mountains would have seen nothing, as the men free-fell toward their parachute opening height. A keen observer might have seen parachute canopies open, and drift down, but the nearest people on the ground were many kilometers away. The first men to hit the ground immediately released their chutes, and looked to the sky through their night vision equipment as the others floated down.

Within minutes, all the men were accounted for, and moving to their assigned positions within a secure perimeter. Everything had gone to plan, the only casualty, an injured ankle.

***

A pink glow spread across the sky as night gave way to dawn.

Major Blacksten surveyed the pass through his binoculars. “Are we agreed, we prefer the right-hand side for the ambush positions?”

There were several 'Yes sirs'.

“I want a sniper team positioned on that ledge jutting out on the right-hand side. It will give visibility over most of the pass. Their job is to give us a visual on the terrorists.”

Rangers moved in single-file from their initial defensive position in the center of the pass almost to the mountainside on the right-hand side, and then along the base of the steep slope. At intervals, pairs of men moved a short distance away from the mountainside looking for a position that offered both a clear view of the center of the pass and concealment. Three men climbed up to the ledge.

The maneuver spread the men out over two hundred meters in a L-shaped ambush overlooking the trail. The mortar team setup behind the command post at the base of the L. Forty-five minutes after dawn, the Rangers were in position and waiting.

The communications officer relayed a report from Romania that the Intel still put the terrorists at their last reported position twelve kilometers away.

Clouds hid the mountain peaks and swirled down the slopes on both sides of the pass, as the three Delta Force soldiers proceeded to the destroyed MAADS system.

Sergeant Jackson's orders were to ascertain the extent of the damage, and if any of the equipment, especially the computers, was left in a usable or recoverable state. The second part of his orders were to collect evidence that might show why the MAADS system had failed to successfully deploy. Jackson could see a partial answer to the second part of his orders. The MAADS container had landed upside down, and both ends had substantial impact damage. It looked like it had tumbled down the mountainside before coming to rest.

Allen and Pasco stood guard while Jackson got to work. He circled the control unit's container, taking photographs with a digital camera before removing the GPS controller from the parachute rig.

When he had taken sufficient photographs of the container's exterior, he opened one of the canvas bags he had brought with him, and took out a large crowbar. He would need it to get inside the container to assess the damage.

Either the heat of the demolition charges, or impacting the mountainside, had buckled the ramp that lowered to launch the aerial vehicle, and allowed the tactical robots to drive out of the container. Jackson levered the ramp open with the crowbar. But with the container now upside down, the ramp hung vertically, and he would need to remove it entirely in order to access the container's interior.

He used the crowbar to lever the ramp where it attached to the container by a hinge. It came away on one side. Thirty seconds later he had detached the hinge on the other side. He removed the ramp and laid it on the ground. He photographed the burnt remains of the aerial vehicle from several angles.

Using his flashlight, he inspected the container's interior. Jackson knew where everything should be because Sammy had walked him through the plans that showed its internal layout, and how the robots were packed for deployment.

Everything inside the container was burnt and blackened. He could see the frame of a tactical robot and another behind it. They were upside down, and must have broken lose when the container impacted. He couldn't make out what was behind the two tactical robots, but assumed it included the two other robots. Jackson photographed the interior.

The most important part of his job was to get the control unit's computers. There was no real risk going inside the container. The heat of the demolition charges would have cooked off the ammunition, and the onboard methanol was not flammable. The propane was, but Sammy thought the demolition charges would have breeched the container and the gas burnt away. If not, Jackson didn't intend exposing a naked flame or discharging a firearm inside the container.

The computers were located underneath the roof, now at the bottom of the upside container. He would have to remove at least one of the tactical robots to access them.

Sergeant Jackson removed a thin steel cable from his bag, and unrolled it. He took one end of the cable, and crawled into the container. He pulled the cable around the frame of the nearest robot, and clipped the end over the cable forming a loop around the vehicle's frame. He crawled back out of the container, looped the cable around his body, and walked backwards trying to pull the remains of the robot out of the MAADS container. Initially, there was no movement, and he though he might have to get one of the other men to help, but the robot suddenly came free, and he stumbled backwards dragging it out of the container.

He repeated the procedure to remove the second robot blocking access to the computers.

Jackson took a pair of bolt cutters from his bag, and reentered the container. He found he could now access the steel box containing the computers. He intended to cut the bolts that attached the box to the container’s roof. There was a bolt at each corner and one halfway down each side. It was awkward and uncomfortable work, and he would be completely black by the time he finished.

After five minutes of effort, he concluded cutting through the bolts wasn't going to work. While he had managed to cut the three he could access, he needed to cut the bolts all the way around the steel box, and that meant getting to the other end of the container, which was a jumbled mess of burnt and broken equipment.

He put down the bolt cutters, exited the MAADS container, and picked up the crowbar he had left on the ground, Allen came over to him, and said, “You need to finish. Our orders are to be in position in twenty minutes, with no movement after that time. I don’t want us getting shot by some trigger-happy Ranger.”

“I should finish by then.” If necessary he would request more time.

Jackson crawled back into the container, and found a position to work from. He repeatedly speared the crowbar at a place where he thought he could separate the steel box, enclosing the computers, from the container’s roof. The heavy crowbar dented and deformed the metal roof of the container, and after several minutes, he had created a small gap.

He worked the point, at the curved end of the crowbar, into the gap, and after a couple of attempts, he got some purchase. He pushed down on the long arm of the crowbar, and the side of the steel box came away from the roof of the container as Sammy said it would. He shifted his position, levered down on the crowbar, and felt the bolts give way. He hooked the curved end of the crowbar over the back of the box, and simultaneously levered and pulled it free.

He used the bolt cutters to cut through the Kevlar-covered cables that ran into the steel box. Leaving the crowbar and bolt cutters behind, he dragged the heavy box out of the container.
Allen was waiting for him as he crawled out. “We need to get back to the command post. There have been calls for you to report to Ranger headquarters immediately.”

Jackson had turned off his comms. It was against regulations, but the net was full of talk about the planned ambush of the terrorists, and he had needed to concentrate on his mission.

He turned his comms back on, and then put the box containing the computers in the large bag. He found he couldn't get the aerial vehicle into the second bag he had brought because of its wings. This was classified equipment, and the fewer people who saw it the better. He tried to break off one of the wings, and found he could bend the flexible material sufficiently to fit it into the bag.

His final tasks were to photograph the two tactical robots he had dragged clear, and then remove their computers.

As he finished taking the photographs, he heard his name over the net. “Sergeant Jackson, report in immediately for new orders.”

He looked at the blackened frames of the tactical robots. On both, where the computer was located, was a mass of fused metal. 'There's nothing recoverable', he thought, as he took some final photographs of the robots.

He called to Allen and Pasco that he had finished, slung both bags over his shoulder, and began to make his way back to the command post, followed by the two other Delta Force soldiers.

Mist drifted across the pass, intermittently dropping the visibility to a few meters. Allen didn't want them to be blue-on-blue casualties and broadcast over the net. “Sergeants Jackson, Allen and Pasco returning to the Command Post. Heading in a southeasterly direction. Five hundred meters, over.”

He repeated the same message, alerting everyone to friendlies on the move. Sergeant Jackson's winter warfare outfit was mostly black, in sharp contrast with the pristine white of the other two men's gear.

Chapter 38

Chapter 36

2005-12-05T00:54:00.000-08:00

Mihail Kogalniceanu Military Air Base, Romania
April 12, 2006, 1900 Local Time

Charles mused, “'What is the old man's name?' What does that mean?”

Captain Freedman overheard and responded, “I don't know, and I don't care. All I care about is getting an answer. Can we get a fix on where this person is?”

If you mean, can we give you a GPS fix on him? The answer is, not with the aerial vehicle upside down, and not without using the tactical robots to search for him. All I can say is, he is in the general area of the MAADS control unit.

“That answers my question.”

Captain Freedman strode purposefully to the door and left.

He returned half an hour later, and asked Charles outside.

“The Army Ranger’s mission is still on, and your priority remains getting an aerial vehicle to provide surveillance on the terrorists.

“Secondly, I've just talked to the CIA, and they are interested in a mid-level defector from Iran's Revolutionary Guards who knows about the Iranian government's operational plans for terrorist infiltration. He will get an allowance while they debrief him and then a new identity. It looks like we have the makings of a deal. Now all we have to do is persuade our friend to take it.”
“How are we going to answer his question about the old man's name?”

“The CIA says the Kurds can get us an answer. Anyway, that’s not your concern.”

Charles suspected he was being fed a story. “Should I believe this?”

He watched Freedman change from a man who had cut an important deal into a formal, duty and honor soldier. “The Government of the United States of America keeps its word, and I am an officer in the Army of the United States of America.”

Charles still had his doubts as he turned to Fiona to check the status of the aerial vehicles.

***

Razmara heard the same woman's voice over the radio, and realized he had dozed off. The stresses of the day had exhausted him, and he struggled to clear his head.

“Captain Razmara, come in.”

He looked at his watch. Exactly two hours had passed since the last radio contact.

“Yes, I am here.”

“Captain Razmara we are arranging to contact your wife as you requested. We hope to have some news for you tomorrow.

"You must stay where you are. Otherwise, we will not be able to contact you. And moving around is dangerous. The machines can see just as well in darkness, as they see in the daylight.”

“I understand.” Razmara noted the use of the plural. He wondered how many machines there were, and whether they could see him now.

“We will speak again in the morning.”

Razmara slept fitfully with vivid dreams. When he awoke, he continued the subject of the dream into his half-awake thoughts.

By dawn, he had made a decision. He would go back to Iran. Back to his family, and the life he knew.

***

Charles had taken the opportunity to get a couple of hours sleep, and had encouraged Fiona to do the same, before they tried to fly in the System B aerial vehicle. She could do little before then, except worry.

When Charles returned to the project room, Fiona was already there poring over large-scale maps. She turned to him and asked, “Sleep OK?”

“Yes, but not long enough. And you, how did you sleep?”

“I tried to, but there is too much going on, and my mind wouldn't stop.”

Charles had read that women could tolerate lack of sleep better than men could. He wondered if it was true.

Fiona said, “I’ve been trying to figure out the best route. It comes down to, do we fly over the mountains or around them. Richard thinks we should go high, and fly over the mountains.

“The problem is we don’t have an altimeter on the aerial vehicle. I can usually estimate the vehicle’s elevation from the camera's visual images, but it will be flying at night and it has never been that high before, so I'll have to determine its height by calculating its climb rate.”

She added after a brief pause, “Air moving over mountain ranges can have severe turbulence. I'm worried it could be serious enough to bring the bird down.”

Charles called Richard over. “What route do you propose for the System B aerial vehicle?”

“We go high, and fly in a straight line to the new location. It will use less fuel, and take less time. We don’t have the data to assess the probability of turbulence bringing the bird down, versus the probability of crashing into a mountain if we try to navigate a way around. Hence, the relative risk of the two approaches is not a factor we can use in making our decision.
“That would have been my suggestion. We go high, and fly straight.”

Charles thought to himself, this approach would at least get it over with faster. At the same time, he worried stress and fatigue was starting to affect his judgment.

***

At nine p.m. Charles told Fiona to proceed with their plan for flying in the System B aerial vehicle. Fiona had the commands ready, and only needed to hit a couple of keys to send them. A few seconds later and hundreds of kilometers away in remote mountain valley, a dark birdlike shape stopped flying a search pattern it had repeated over a thousand times, and turned toward the head of the valley.

Fiona watched the familiar valley floor pass beneath the aerial vehicle, as it flew back to the control unit. She found the methodical predictability of robotic operations comforting. Preprogrammed routines that never varied by even a millisecond.

Five minutes later, the aerial vehicle landed on the control unit’s ramp. A robotic arm removed the fuel cartridge from underneath its body, and inserted a new one. The ramp rose to a forty-degree angle, and the rear part of the ramp shot forward sending the vehicle five meters into the air, with almost enough forward momentum to fly. It got the extra momentum it needed as it briefly accelerated under gravity toward the ground, and then began to rise into the air.
The previous times it had been through the launch, it had flown down into the valley it patrolled. This time it began to circle, slowly gaining height.

Fiona intently watched the enhanced visual image from the aerial vehicle's cameras. The ground gradually receded on the screen, and a wider vista of moonlit jagged peaks came into view.

“How high are you going to take it?”

“The highest mountain in its path is just over 2100 meters. We can avoid the mountain by taking a route to the north. An elevation of 1900 meters should ensure the aerial vehicle is well clear of anything on its path. So it needs to climb a thousand meters above the pass before it sets out.”

Charles avoided asking Fiona how confident she was, she could accurately estimate the vehicle's elevation. It would just increase her, already too high, stress levels. When it came to decide whether the aerial vehicle was high enough, it would be a collective decision among the four of them.

Fiona continued, “The bird climbs at a rate of 0.28 meters per second, and I have calculated it will take slightly more than an hour to gain a thousand meters of elevation. Add 10 percent as a contingency. Say an hour and ten minutes to get sufficient height, and then an hour and twenty minutes to fly to the System D control unit.”

Throughout the time Fiona had been speaking, she had kept her eyes fixed on the screen showing the image transmitted by the slowly ascending bird.

“Two and a half hours is more than my original estimate. Let’s hope it doesn’t take longer than that. We are cutting it fine for my midnight briefing to the Colonel, when I have to tell him whether we have an aerial vehicle in position or not.”

Fiona gave out an audible gasp, and Charles looked at the screen. The aerial vehicle usually transmitted a stable image of the ground beneath it, with only slight movements as it made minor adjustments to its flight configuration, but now the image lurched from side-to-side.

Charles asked, “What's causing it?”

Fiona said, “Air turbulence. Air moving over mountain ranges often has severe turbulence. Until now we have kept the aerial vehicles in the sheltered valleys.”

“Is there anything we can do to alleviate the turbulence?”

“The vehicle is most unstable when it is climbing because it is flying only just faster than its stalling speed. It's most stable in level flight at maximum speed.”

“I am starting to think that high wasn’t such a good choice, and we might be better off going around the mountains.”

Charles ignored the look from Richard, and continued, “Will flying into the wind help?”

Fiona said, “Yes, it should help.”

“What direction is the wind?”

“The wind is from the northeast.”

The wind direction was a break because flying into a northeasterly wind would take the aerial vehicle into Azerbaijan, and he could justify that to Captain Freedman. If the wind direction had been from the south or west it would have meant flying into Iranian airspace. Charles could hear Captain Freedman exploding when he told him they had flown the aerial vehicle far into Iranian airspace, never mind the consequences if it crashed inside Iran.

Charles said, “We fly it northeast into Azerbaijan, and gain some height by flying into the wind.”

Fiona should be going through this analysis, but Charles could see she was starting to fall apart under the stress and lack of sleep. She began to type commands, still staring at the wildly pitching image on the screen.

“I’ve sent the command.”

Within seconds, the image became more stable, although, it still swung from side-to-side. They couldn’t measure the airspeed remotely, and it was impossible to tell the aerial vehicles speed from the image it transmitted.

Charles asked, “How long before it loses contact with the network?”

Fiona said, “At this elevation, it should be able to communicate up to the maximum range of forty kilometers, or until a mountain gets in the way.”

“Send the new route data as soon as possible because if it loses contact before it receives the data, it's going to keep flying in a straight line until it runs out of fuel over the Caspian Sea.”

Fiona began typing commands, and a short while later announced, “I've sent the new route.”
All they could do now was wait. Ten minutes later, the screen went blank.

It would be a tense hour and a half before they saw an image from the aerial vehicle transmitted through the System D control unit. If the image didn’t appear, then the bird had been lost through unknown causes. Charles thought, a satellite-based communication system, that worked over long distances, was something they needed to investigate for the next version of MAADS.

Charles spent the time waiting for the aerial vehicle to arrive, thinking about what he would tell Colonel Saltvitz when he briefed him at midnight. If the aerial vehicle arrived safely, he would assure the Colonel that everything was going to plan, and the aerial vehicle would be on station until at least noon the following day. He wouldn't mention their difficulties, unless the Colonel asked him a direct question. He dozed off making notes.

Fiona woke him with a smile. “The aerial vehicle has arrived.”

“What time is it?”

“Eleven forty.”

Fiona told Charles what she planned. “We should fly the aerial vehicle directly over the System D control unit, and use the route we already use to the pass where the infiltrators are.”

Charles shook the sleep from his head, and said, “How far away is the aerial vehicle, and how long will it take to arrive at the infiltrators' location?”

“It's just over fifteen kilometers away from the System D control unit. With the wind behind it, it will take perhaps thirty minutes to reach the control unit, then another fifteen minutes to reach the infiltrator's position.”

“Forty-five minutes is too long. Can't we make it fly faster?”

The smile disappeared from Fiona's face, and Charles knew immediately he had fallen into the same error that Captain Freedman and all the other military officers made. The aerial vehicle was autonomous, it decided how to fly to its objective. You could communicate urgency to a man, but not to a machine.

“Sorry Fiona, I'm not at my best when I've just woken.”

He would just have to explain the situation to the Colonel. He looked around to find Captain Freedman standing behind him.

“Captain, What do you suggest I tell the Colonel?”

“I suggest you tell him the truth. You can run through your briefing first with me. Keep it short. All the Colonel needs to know is whether the aerial vehicle will provide Intel for his men, and for how long.”

Charles ran through the briefing he had prepared, with Captain Freedman, finishing with the status of the System B aerial vehicle.

Captain Freedman told him to take out the technical references, and said, “The Rangers won't get the feed from the aerial vehicle. I will relay a summary of the relevant information through to their headquarters, telling them the location of the infiltrators. They will not be told how the information is obtained, although, of course, the Colonel knows already. This is still a classified project, and the less people who know about it the better.”

After a short drive across the airbase, their driver led Charles and Captain Freedman into an office where Colonel Saltvitz was waiting alone.

It took Charles less than five minutes to brief the Colonel, including the current position of the aerial vehicle and its ETA over the infiltrators.

The Colonel seemed distracted, almost disinterested, and asked a single question. “How confident are you, the aerial vehicle can maintain surveillance on the terrorists through 1200 hours tomorrow?”

Charles answered, “I'm very confident.”

It was more confidence than he felt.

It was only when he was back in the project room, did he start to suspect that MAADS was not as crucial to the operation as they were telling him it was. Perhaps MAADS had already fulfilled its role, and the emphasis had shifted onto conventional military assets to get the job done.

Fiona was in her customary position watching the images transmitted by the aerial vehicle. She informed him it had flown over the river at the rope bridge, and was now searching for the infiltrator's current position.

Charles told her, “Let me know when it finds them.”

“Nothing, so far. No, wait! I think it has found them. Men on snow-covered ground really stand out in the infrared. These hot spots are the fires they have lit. I'll get the aerial vehicle to fly up the valley as far as the pass, and establish where all the infiltrators are.”

“Get back to me when it’s done.”

A half hour later, Fiona came over to him, and said, “All the men are camped together about ten kilometers short of the pass. I'm certain no one is any closer.”

“How high did the aerial vehicle have to go to keep in contact with the network?”

“When it got to the top of the pass, it was almost four hundred meters above the ground, but now we know for sure that getting the aerial vehicle to go higher does ensure it keeps in communication with the control unit.”

Captain Freedman told Charles to tell his people to get some sleep and be back by five a.m., when the Rangers would be hitting the ground.

Charles relayed the Captain's instruction to those still working. They all left except Fiona. She insisted she must stay up through the night in case there was a problem with the aerial vehicle. Charles felt too tired to persuade her otherwise, and left to get some urgently needed sleep.

Chapter 37

Chapter 35

2005-12-04T22:55:00.000-08:00

The Talish Mountains, Iran Azerbaijan border
April 12, 2006, 1830 Local Time

Captain Razmara glanced at his watch. There were a couple of minutes left before his next attempt, on his self-imposed schedule, to contact his men. He held the radio in his hand.

His surprise was total when a voice issued from the radio. A voice far clearer than he had ever heard on this kind of radio.

“Captain Razmara, come in!”

He raised the radio to his mouth, and was about to speak, when it registered the voice was a woman speaking strangely accented Farsi.

He took his thumb off the transmit button, and the same words repeated.

“Captain Razmara, come in!”

His mind was searching for a logical explanation, and failing to find one. The message had to be coming from the mysterious container. What should he do? The same words continued to repeat at ten second intervals.

He pressed the transmit button. “Who are you?”

After a pause, the voice said, “We are here to help you, Captain Razmara. We know the four men who came with you are dead. We can help you.”

He sat with the radio in his hand until the same message repeated. He pressed the transmit button. “What do you want from me?”

The reply came a few seconds later. “We want our bird back.”

Razmara was not a superstitious man, but sitting on this cold mountainside, he started to think his mission was cursed, and he was speaking with a demon, but demons didn't use radios. The rational part of his mind kicked in, and the 'give people what they want' part of his character took over. He thought, whoever they are, they want the bird back, that means it's valuable. 'Let's see, how valuable.' He pressed the transmit button.

“I know where the bird is.”

“We know you have the bird beside you.”

Razmara overcame his disorientation at the statement, and looked down at the mechanical bird. He had been right. Those were cameras, and whoever he was speaking to, could see him through them.

The voice continued without waiting for a reply. “You have the bird upside down. This may damage it. Can you please turn it the right way up?”

Razmara was immediately suspicious. If they could see him through the camera, why would they want the bird turned over so the cameras could no longer see him. He suspected turning the bird over would allow it to use a weapon of some description against him. Yet, he had carried the bird with the top against his back. Why hadn't they used the weapon then? He was sure of one thing. He wasn't going to touch the bird in the dark.

“I will leave the bird the way it is.”

There was a long pause before. “You must return it to us.”

“You mean, take it back to the strange container?”

“No, it's dangerous to go near the container. You must bring the bird into Azerbaijan, and give it to our people.”

Razmara responded immediately. “No, you will arrest me.”

“We will not arrest you. We will reward you for returning our bird to us.”

Razmara thought, all the people who knew about the bird, except him, were dead. He could take it into Azerbaijan, give it to whoever these people were, and no one in Iran would know. But he would still have failed in his mission, and his career damaged, perhaps badly. He didn't know what had happened to his men who had taken the secondary pass. If some catastrophe were to befall them, he would surely be blamed, even though he was following his orders to the letter. He decided to try to find out more about his mysterious caller.

“Who are you?”

The response was a question. “Who are you Captain Razmara?”

“I am a Captain in the Islamic Republic of Iran's Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps. I ask again, who are you?”

There was the longest pause yet, and Razmara was about to retransmit his question when the reply came back.

“We are Americans.”

An image of the old man flashed in his mind, and he could clearly hear the old man saying something he had heard him say many times.

'Farid Razmara, opportunities come without warning and you must be prepared to act. If you hesitate or delay, then the opportunity will pass you by, and you will always regret not having acted when you had your opportunity. Look at me. When the revolution occurred, I had the opportunity to return to America. In the chaos, I could have gone to Tehran and got on a plane out of Iran, and gone back to America. You know I had a ticket, and I had money, but I hesitated. The opportunity passed me by, and now I cannot leave. They took my ticket and American passport away from me, and burned them before my eyes. Now, I have no money and no passport.'

Razmara knew this was an opportunity that would never come again, and he needed to act to take advantage of it.

“Prove to me you are Americans and I can trust you.”

“How can we do that?”

Razmara had no idea how they could prove it to him, but he intended the question to stall for the time he needed to think.

If he took the mechanical bird to these people, who said they were Americans, he would be a traitor. When he returned to Iran, he would spend the rest of life worrying someone would discover his secret, and he would be disgraced, or worse, imprisoned or executed. He knew if he carried the bird down the mountain into Azerbaijan, he would not be returning to Iran. But if he didn't take the bird into Azerbaijan, and instead returned to Iran with it, he still faced getting past the mysterious ambushers, and their lethal accuracy. Returning to Iran would likely get him killed. He moved toward a decision as he pressed the transmit button.

“If I bring the bird to you what will be my reward?”

The reply came back almost immediately. “What do you want?”

“I want to go to America.”

“That can be arranged, but you must follow our instructions exactly.”

“And I need my wife and children to come to America with me.”

“That can be arranged as well.”

“I need you do something to help me trust you.”

Razmara knew there was little he could do to ensure these people kept their word to him, but he needed to test them anyway. Like most people in Iran, he viewed Americans as capable of many things. He knew the regime's constant references to American spies were mostly propaganda, but still believed they contained some truth.

“I want you to contact my wife to tell her I am well, and to ask her a question.”

“We need to know how to contact her.”

“Her name is Farideh. We live at seventy-nine Sindokht Street, off Fatemi Avenue in Rasht. Our house is the largest on the street. It has a green metal gate and a metal fence around it.”

“What is the question?”

Razmara paused, and then said, “The question is 'What is the old man's name?'”

“We will see what we can do, but we cannot guarantee success. Until we contact you again, it's important you stay where you are. Do not approach the container under any circumstances or attempt to return to Iran. Repeat! Stay where you are, and do not approach the container, or attempt to return to Iran. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“We will contact you again in two hours.”

Two hours would give him time to think things through. If he went to Azerbaijan, and then to America, the bodies of his men would be found, and he would be presumed dead. That would make his wife, the widow of a hero of the revolution. His father-in-law doted on his grandchildren, and would ensure they were well taken off, but could he leave his wife and children behind? He grappled with the question, huddled in his island of warmth in these cold mountains. Eventually, he reached a conclusion. He would go to America if it was possible, and if was a trick, then so be it. He would end up dead. However, if he reached America, his wife and children must come too.

Chapter 36

Chapter 34

2005-12-04T22:47:00.000-08:00

Mihail Kogalniceanu Military Air Base, Romania
April 12, 2006, 1800 Local Time

Charles had told Fiona to prepare to fly in the aerial vehicles from System B and System A. Now he was watching the two-hour backlog of recorded images from System D at five-times normal speed, while occasional snatches of a recognizably human voice came from Richard's direction.

When Captain Freedman returned, he merely glanced at the screens, and went directly to Richard.

Richard said, “This is what I have so far, Captain.” He played a few seconds of a strangely distorted male voice. “It's someone speaking a language I don't understand.”

Captain Freedman said, “It sounds like Farsi,” He went directly to the white phone hanging on the wall, and dialed.

“This is Captain Freedman. I need a Farsi speaker immediately.”

He listened for a few seconds, put the phone down, and turned toward Charles who was looking at him curiously because he had never seen the Captain use that phone in their presence.

“We're in luck. There's a Farsi speaker available on the base.”

Less than five minutes later, a blond female Lieutenant entered the room, saluted, and said, “Lieutenant Ryan reporting, sir.”

Captain Freedman signaled to Richard who played the few seconds they had of the voice. “Lieutenant, can you tell me what language is being spoken?”

“Yes, sir. It's Farsi.”

“What is he saying?”

“It sounds like 'This is Captain Razmara. Come in'.”

“Someone is trying to establish radio contact?”

“I think so, sir.”

“How good is your Farsi?”

“Reasonably good, sir. I studied it for two years, and I have done a considerable amount of Farsi English translation work.”

“That should be good enough.”

“Richard, I'd like to take you up on your offer, and talk to our friend.”

“OK! Give me twenty minutes, and I should be able to arrange something.”

The radio transmitter was a standard feature on the data network. They thought they might use it to broadcast safety warnings on public radio frequencies. There should be no problem in broadcasting and receiving voice right in the middle of the spectrum the radio was using.

“Mr. Corrigan, as soon as you finish watching the logged images, I need you to summarize their content for me. Lieutenant Ryan, I would like you to wait outside, while I go see if anyone is awake in Langley Virginia.”

Charles realized a transition had occurred, and Captain Freedman had gone from being a largely passive observer to the person in charge.

Charles had always thought of himself as a bit of a stress junkie, but this was getting to be too much stress, for too long, and he would be glad when the night was over. He leaned back in his chair, and as the tension receded, he felt fatigue creeping in to replace it.

Captain Freedman returned with Lieutenant Ryan in tow, and asked Charles to summarize the two hours of taped images for him.

Charles listed the main events. “Five armed men came up to the control unit in the snow. The control unit ignored them. One of the men, who appeared to be the leader, took the aerial vehicle when it landed, and then all five men left in the direction of the trail over the pass.”
“Can we hear what they were saying?”

“No Captain, we cannot. MAADS doesn't have an audio capability.”

“Why not?”

Justifying why they made certain design decisions, and why they included or excluded specific capabilities, was an important part of Charles' job. Nonetheless, he found people's desire to include always more features into a system, and the consequent task of explaining to them why it wasn't a good idea, tiresome. People in his position even had a word for it - 'featuritus', which meant adding more features or capabilities because someone thought something was a good idea or might be needed. Charles felt like giving the Captain his 'simple is good!' speech, but this was neither the time nor the place, so he restricted himself to his stock answer. “Audio wasn't a stated requirement.”

The answer seemed to satisfy the Captain, and Charles continued with his summary.

“A few minutes later, one of the tactical robots saw three of the men on the trail into Iran. Between the time the men left the control unit, and when they encountered the tactical robot, the snow had lessened. We assume this resulted in the search software no longer encountering infrared contrasts outside its valid ranges. Although, I suspect there were other effects at work, perhaps the amount of body heat resulting from physical exertion.

“What we do know is the robot initially shot one of the men. The two other men dropped to the ground, and disappeared from view. One of the men fired a burst at the tactical robot. When he exposed himself to fire a second burst, the robot shot him.”

“Did he hit the robot?”

“We have no way of telling. All we can say is there is no detectable damage.”

“Continue.”

“The third man got to his feet, and started back in the direction he had come from. The robot could now see the top part of his body, and shot him in the back of the head.”

“Mr. Corrigan, why did the three men get so close to the robot before they were detected?”

“To a degree, it's a matter of timing. The robot's cameras are rotating all the time, periodically stopping to inspect a particular area in more detail. So, it's possible for someone, especially if they are moving quickly, to approach the robot before it points its camera in their direction, and sees them.

“The robot's search software keeps track of how long it has been since it inspected a particular area, and the longer the time, the higher the priority the area gets. In normal operation, a particular area may be unobserved for four or five seconds, but rarely longer.

“If you are interested, Richard could give you a more detailed explanation.”

Charles doubted Captain Freedman was, and he continued his description of what had happened.

“A couple of minutes later, the MAADS control unit shot one of the two remaining men, who were retracing their route past the control unit. It also fired at the fifth man, but missed. None of the four men killed had the aerial vehicle. So, presumably, the fifth man still has it.”

Captain Freedman listened to the remainder of Charles' summary without comment, and asked a single question at the end. “I thought MAADS was supposed to be a perfect shot, never missing even at maximum range. Why did it miss the fifth man at such close range?”

Charles inwardly sighed. He had propagated the meme of MAADS' flawless marksmanship. It was a part of his job to sell a vision. In this case, the vision of the perfect marksman was almost true. However, a target that moved suddenly and unpredictably at the point MAADS fired its weapon would, in all likelihood, move out of the way of the bullet. He was sure this was what had happened.

“Captain, I believe the target moved suddenly in response to the man in front of him being shot, at the same time the MAADS control unit fired, and as a result the bullet missed. The man then stayed out of sight of the control unit, and there was no further opportunity to target him.”

When Charles had finished his answer, the Captain turned without responding, and walked over to stand by Richard.

“Is the radio link working?”

“I'm ready to test it.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that we speak at this end, and if the person at the other end replies, then it’s working.”

Captain Freedman controlled his irritation at the sarcastic answer, and said, “Lieutenant Ryan, I want you to say 'Captain Razmara, come in.' in Farsi, and keep repeating the message until we get a response.”

“Yes, sir.”

Richard handed a headset with an attached microphone to the Lieutenant.

“Just use the microphone. We will hear any reply over these speakers.”

Charles joined them, and asked, “Captain, do you want me to prepare instructions for the man to follow when he returns the aerial vehicle?”

“My orders are to take whatever steps necessary to ensure the classified equipment does not remain in terrorist hands, either by repossessing it, or by ensuring it's destroyed.

“What do you recommend I do to fulfill those orders?”

Charles wondered why the Captain was asking him this. He had already described his plan.

“I understood, we are going to ask him to return the aerial vehicle to the control unit. If he agrees, we give him instructions on exactly what he should do, and then we disable the control unit's defensive capability, so he can do it.”

Captain Freedman responded, “Then he or someone else could walk up, permanently disable the control unit or its defenses, and remove more classified equipment. We know there are more terrorists in the area.

“Disabling MAADS' defensive capability is unacceptable.”

Charles said, “I thought we agreed, we would try to get him to return the aerial vehicle.”

“I put forward your proposed plan together with my assessment, and the decision was, the chances of success in persuading the terrorist to return the aerial vehicle were too low and the risks too high. My orders are to proceed with flying in the System B and A aerial vehicles.

“Getting the man with the aerial vehicle to return to the control unit without disabling its defenses might get him killed. On the other hand, the control unit might miss again, and any chance for trust will be gone, and that assumes we could persuade him in the first place, which I doubt.”

Charles thought it also assumes he would cooperate in tricking a man into getting himself killed.

The Captain continued, “We won't try to get him to return the aerial vehicle to the control unit, with or without turning off the defenses. We know twenty men left the main party, and went in the direction of the MAADS system. You tell me, since then, four of them have been killed. Do we know the current location of the remaining sixteen men?”

Before he could answer, the Captained continued speaking, and Charles realized it was a rhetorical question and his answer was irrelevant to the decision.

“I suggest you leave the person with the missing aerial vehicle for me to deal with, and concentrate on getting a replacement.”

Captain Freedman thought too many things were going wrong with this equipment, and he was skeptical flying in the aerial vehicles from the B and A systems would work. That had been his assessment to the General, but if the plan failed they would know in time to cancel the Ranger mission, so there was no real downside in trying. He didn’t like the idea of canceling an important mission, but he wouldn’t be responsible, and if the mission did succeed, he was confident of getting some of the glory.

“Your earlier orders, that maintaining surveillance over the main group of terrorists is the overriding priority, remain in effect. Get the System B aerial vehicle in position over the main group of terrorists as soon as possible. Is that clear?”

“Yes Captain, it's clear.”

Chapter 35

Chapter 33

2005-12-04T21:14:00.000-08:00

Mihail Kogalniceanu Military Air Base, Romania
April 12, 2006 1755 Local Time

Charles glanced up at the clock for perhaps the fifteenth time in as many minutes. The second hand continued its unnaturally slow sweep around the clock face, less than two minutes to go. He knew by now the satellite-based communication system came online at exactly the scheduled time.

“Richard, as soon as the satellite comes online, I want you to download the System D images, for the last two hours, and run them fast forward on this screen. I also want you to run a systems check on the control unit and all the tactical robots. We'll keep the live images on the usual screens.”

“It should take me about twenty minutes to grab the logged images. A little less to do the system checks.”

Charles glanced up at the wall clock, thirty seconds to go. Everyone, including the normally reserved Captain Freedman, crowded around the screens. Charles wanted to count down the seconds, but knew it would be too melodramatic, besides all the others were glancing at the clock as well.

On schedule, the images transmitted by the control unit and the tactical robots appeared the screens. They showed a snow-covered landscape, clearly visible in the dusk. There was no movement and nothing untoward in any of the images. The screen that should be showing the image transmitted from the aerial vehicle’s was blank.

“Fiona, the aerial vehicle's image is not coming through. Can you find out what’s wrong?”
The image from the control unit switched to the infrared as its cameras continued their normal scan, switched back to the visual, and then switched again to the infrared as the scan continued. The cameras were close to completing a 360-degree view without showing anything unusual.

“What’s that?”

Charles could see a heat source on the ground. The image switched to the visual range, and he could see a dark patch on the snow. The scan continued, and by the time the image returned to the infrared, it had moved past the heat source.

Captain Freedman said, “It looked like a human body or possibly the body of a large animal. Judging by the amount of heat it's still giving out, it hasn't been dead long, no more than twenty minutes in my estimation. It looks like your equipment has killed at least one of the terrorists.”

Charles took no pleasure in dead bodies, but he was relieved the MAADS control unit had, in the end, done its job, and protected itself.

Fiona’s sounded worried. “The control unit’s log says the refueling didn’t complete because the robot arm couldn’t find the aerial vehicle. I can’t see the aerial vehicle on the visual image, even though it definitely landed.” She paused, and then said quietly, “Someone must have taken it.”

Captain Freedman spoke directly to Charles. “If classified equipment has fallen into the hands of terrorists, it must be destroyed immediately.”

The sick feeling in Charles' stomach had returned as he hesitantly said, “Unfortunately, we can't destroy the aerial vehicle remotely.”

Surprise registered on the Captain's face. “Why not?”

Fiona answered. “It would have added too much weight. We dropped it from the design in order to achieve twelve hours in the air.”

“Why were we not made aware of this deficiency?”

Charles knew the truth. They had deliberately downplayed it in their progress reports, to the point of obscuring the fact, because the feature didn't justify the problems that resulted from the extra weight. MAADS would work perfectly well without the ability to remotely destroy the aerial vehicle.

He decided there was no point in trying to explain their reasoning. “Captain, our priority is to get an aerial vehicle up by midnight. I suggest we concentrate on doing that, and leave the postmortems until later. Richard, how is the systems check going?”

“So far, so good. I'll be finished in about five minutes.”

Charles knew that just because they couldn't detect a problem with the control unit, didn't mean there wasn't one. Whoever took the aerial vehicle could have easily damaged the equipment used to refuel and launch it.”

Fiona looked drawn as she quietly asked. “Charles, do you want me to turn on the missing aerial vehicle?”

In the heat of the crisis, he had forgotten they could remotely activate the aerial vehicle. “Can we switch on the cameras and GPS without turning on the flight mechanism?”

“Yes, we can. Give me a minute.”

Captain Freedman asked, “What are you doing?”

Charles replied, “We are going to turn on the aerial vehicle's camera and GPS, and see what they tell us.”

Charles waited anxiously for Fiona to complete the sequence of commands. “OK, we will see the images on the usual screen.”

Within seconds, a jerking and swaying image appeared showing snow-covered ground with inverted mountains and a slice of sky at the top of the screen.

“Fiona, what does the GPS tell us?”

“It doesn't have a satellite fix.”

Charles turned to Captain Freedman. “It looks like someone is carrying the aerial vehicle upside down. We won't get a GPS fix until they turn it the right way up, assuming they do.”

Before Charles had finished speaking, the image stopped jerking, and a static image of a rock wall filled most of the screen. Part of a man's body was visible at the edge of the screen. The screen switched to the infrared, and what had been indistinct in the dusk was now visible in sharp red-blue contrasts.

Captain Freedman asked, “What's happening?”

“Whoever was carrying the aerial vehicle has put it down. Unfortunately, it’s lying on its back, and we won't get a GPS fix because the receiver is on the top of the vehicle.”

“Can we send the tactical robots to find and kill whoever has taken the aerial vehicle?”

Charles thought for a moment before replying to Freedman's question. “Without a GPS fix, we would have to get the robots to search for him. I can think of three problems with doing that.

Searching is not preprogrammed tactical robot behavior, so we would have to create and send a series of commands to each robot to perform the search, which would be time-consuming and error prone. Secondly, having the robots search the pass would greatly increase the chances, one or more would fall in a hole, or otherwise get stuck. We risk losing one, and perhaps all of them. Thirdly, searching the pass would use up the robots battery power, and we would have to recharge them. We haven't needed to recharge them to date, and we can't be sure the recharge mechanism is problem-free.”

Before Captain Freedman could respond, the real-time image from the missing aerial vehicle started to breakup. The distortion lasted for less than five seconds before returning to the usual clear image.

“Richard, did you see that?”

“See what?”

“There was interference in the real-time image from the missing aerial vehicle.”

“It will have to wait until I've finished the systems check.”

Arjay said, “Charles, I think I have seen this before. A few months back we were running tests on one of the tactical robots, and started getting this kind of interference. It was an intermittent problem, and I spent two days tracking it down. I found a civilian contractor was using cheap Radio Shack walkie-talkie radios to communicate with his workers, one of whom occasionally worked right outside our lab. He didn't realize those kinds of radios are not allowed on the DARPA facility.”

Captain Freedman interjected, “Does this mean someone is using a radio?”

“It's the only explanation we have at the moment,” Charles replied.

Richard came over and said, “Everything checks out. The download will be finished in a couple of minutes. Now, what’s happening?”

“It looks like someone has taken the aerial vehicle.”

“I heard.”

“Arjay, can you rerun the images from the aerial vehicle, and show Richard the interference.”
The screen went blank, and then showed the visual image, of the rock wall and part of a man's body, breaking up.

Charles said, “Arjay says it looks like interference from a cheap short range radio.”

Richard replied, “It's possible. Those things send out all kinds of electromagnetic junk.”

The Captain interjected again. “If it’s a radio, can we listen to what’s being said?”

“Not too difficult, if the control unit is picking up the transmission. I might be able to arrange for you to talk to them, if you want.”

Richard's remark got the Captain's attention. “Do it immediately. That’s an order.”

Richard was visibly taken aback at being ordered to do something, and was about to react when Charles intervened. “I agree. Richard, it’s your top priority.”

He had made the same connection as the Captain. If someone was using a radio, then it must be the person who had taken the aerial vehicle.

Charles took the Captain to one side, in part, to separate him from Richard.

“I need to get your agreement for what I intend to do. I can see two possible ways to get an aerial vehicle over the infiltrators by midnight, and keep it there for twelve hours, until noon tomorrow.

“One way, is we somehow convince the person who has taken the aerial vehicle to return it to the control unit. If we can communicate with him by radio then perhaps we can persuade him. It seems a remote possibility, but it's worth a try. It also assumes the System D control unit is undamaged, and we can still refuel and launch the aerial vehicle. Midnight is six and a half hours away, so we have perhaps half that time to convince him.

“The other way, is to fly in the aerial vehicle from System B, and possibly System A's vehicle as well. System B is forty-five kilometers away and System A sixty kilometers away. Those distances are as the crow flies. There are some high mountains in the way we will have to navigate around, so it's risky, and we may end up flying our aerial vehicle into a mountainside.

“We will have to manually plot a route, and I don’t know how long the flight is going to take, but I expect it to take around two hours. If it works, we have a known route, most of the way, for the aerial vehicle from System A, if we need to use it.”

Charles paused to assess whether Captain Freedman was considering his proposal. Charles needed to convince him that even though each part of the plan was high risk, there were enough fallback options that something should work. He knew, if the Ranger mission was canceled, and the terrorists got through, the blame would be laid on the MAADS failures, and his personal failure to deliver what he had promised.

Charles said, “Here's my plan. If we can’t persuade the person who has taken the aerial vehicle to return it to the control unit by nine p.m., we fly in the aerial vehicle from MAADS system B. Once the vehicle is in radio contact with System D, we send it instructions to fly to the infiltrators' location.

If the aerial vehicle makes it, then it will be on-station by midnight, and we can tell the Colonel we are monitoring the infiltrators. If the aerial vehicle doesn’t make it, then we tell the Colonel that we have no aerial surveillance, and presumably they cancel the Ranger mission.

“The System B aerial vehicle will only be able to stay in the air until perhaps six a.m. because the flight will consume most of its fuel, so I propose we bring it down to the System D control unit to refuel around five a.m. If the refueling works, it can stay up patrolling past noon.

“If we can’t refuel the System B aerial vehicle, then we fly in the System A aerial vehicle.

“We could eliminate the gap where there is no surveillance by starting the System A vehicle before the System B vehicle tries to refuel. If we do, we have no way of recalling it. But that means, if the System B vehicle successfully refuels, we will have two aerial vehicles over the infiltrators, which improves our surveillance capabilities.”

Captain Freedman asked, “You can do that, move aerial vehicles between MAADS systems so far apart?”

“Transferring aerial vehicles and tactical robots between control units is something we planned for, as part of our strategy to incorporate as much redundancy as possible. All we need to do is send them a command to go to a location, and switch networks when they arrive.”

Charles knew Freedman was skeptical. “Captain, once an aerial vehicle has achieved autonomous flight, the distance it flies is almost irrelevant.”

Charles thought he was persuading the Captain.

“The high risk activity is flying in the System B vehicle, and we will know whether that works or not before we brief the Colonel. If we have a vehicle in the air over the infiltrators' position by midnight, then I am confident we can keep one there until noon the next day.”

Captain Freedman said, “It sounds like a feasible plan. You have my agreement to proceed with any preparatory activities it may require.”

Charles thought the Captain was probably happy that he had made the decision, and consequently would be to blame if it turned out to be wrong.

Captain Freedman announced he had to report to his superiors, and as usual, left the project room to do so.

Chapter 34

Chapter 32

2005-12-04T20:50:00.000-08:00

The Talish Mountains, Iran Azerbaijan border
April 12, 2006, 1600 Local Time

Razmara stared through the swirling snow at the sight that had stopped the lead man. It was a large metal box, open at one end. What looked like two cameras, positioned side by side on top of the box, pointed directly at him, like a pair of eyes. The sight was disturbingly unexpected, then the cameras rotated away like eyes that had seen enough. Razmara stood in shocked silence. He heard the man beside him praying. The cameras rotated around, and once again stopped when they pointed directly at him. He though he heard the whir of an electric motor. One of the men behind asked what was happening.

One part of his mind told him this was just a storage container that happened to have revolving cameras on top. Another part told him this was alien and dangerous, and to stay away from it.

The rational part of his mind got the upper hand, and he waved the men behind him forward. At the same time, he started talking to them, in order to lessen the impact of the sight.

“It's a storage container, the ambushers left behind. They must have lifted it in by helicopter. The cameras are a security system like the ones they have in some of the government buildings in Tehran. I have seen them before, and it is nothing to worry about. Follow me!”

He pushed other questions, like 'who was controlling it?', out of his mind, and led his men toward the strange container. The cameras followed them all the way.

“You two, stand guard over there. I don't want anyone surprising us.”

Now he was closer, he could see what was clearly the barrel of a weapon just below the cameras, pointed directly at him. He sensed Mahvash standing behind him in silence.

Razmara walked to within five meters of the metal container, and started to circle around it. He could see a ramp at the open end. The interior of the container appeared empty except for some equipment attached to the roof and back wall.

He moved closer to get a better look inside the container. Suddenly a circle of red light appeared on the ramp directly in front of him. He didn’t know what the light signified, so he waited apprehensively for what might happen.

Thirty seconds later, he heard a whooshing sound, and a large bird swooped out of the snow, landing right in the center of the circle of light. He felt the downdraft from its wings as it past in front of his face. He was dumbstruck by the sight.

The bird stood immobile with its wings outstretched. He heard muttered words behind him including devil and demon, but he realized this was not a demon. This was man-made, but who had made it, and why had they left something so obviously valuable here in these mountains? Why had the ambushers brought it, in the first place? How could it fly on its own? The questions crowded in without answers.

An answer did come to a question he had been avoiding; how to get out of this dangerous Jihad nonsense with his reputation and promotion prospects intact? He saw the answer in the shape of the large man-made bird. It would surely provide the answer to who the ambushers were, and would bring him to the attention of the highest powers in the Islamic Republic.

He reached out and touched its body. It was cold to the touch, but not metallic cold. He saw a rod appear from the rear of the container, and move rapidly in the direction of the mechanical bird. Almost instinctively, he grabbed the top of the bird and lifted it up before the rod reached it.

The bird was surprisingly light. It was also now his.

Razmara turned with the bird held in his outstretched hand. All eyes were on him, including the camera eyes on the container. As he issued orders, he nervously eyed the container's weapon, expecting it to fire at any moment.

“We are taking this bird machine back to Iran. The ambushers have left. We will find the trail, and follow it back down the valley. You two, lead the way. Let's go!”

As they made their way toward the trail, the snow began to lessen in intensity.

The man in front stopped and called out, “I've found the trail.”

Razmara issued more orders. “They may have mined the trail, so I want us spaced out. Try to walk in the man in front's footprints and move quickly.”

He told the men the order he wanted them in, and placed himself second from last. Despite its light weight, the mechanical bird was awkward to carry, and his arm ached from the effort of holding it outstretched. He experimented with different ways to carry the bird, and settled on holding it by one hand over his shoulder, with the back of the bird resting on his back. The position was more comfortable, and he would be easily able to carry the bird a considerable distance.

In the time it took to find the best way carry the bird, two of the three men ahead of him had disappeared from view. Razmara had just started to follow the footsteps they left in the snow, when a shot echoed across the pass. It was followed by the sound of a Kalashnikov firing a three-round burst, then a second three-round burst, and almost simultaneously another single shot. Razmara saw the man ahead of him drop to the ground, at the same instant he did.

The ambushers were still there, and his men had come upon them from behind. Now was the time for his planned coordinated attack. But his possession of the bird had changed his priorities. He no longer needed to follow his orders to the letter in order to impress his superiors, the bird would do that.

He called out “Come back. Come back.”

The man ahead of him replied. “I'm coming, sir.”

A single shot rang out, and echoed around the high mountains. Razmara saw the man slump to the ground, his head a bloody mess, and then only silence. Razmara hated to leave his men behind, without knowing what had happened to them, but he believed all three were dead. His priority now, was to get the mechanical bird back to Iran, and find out what it proved about the ambushers.

Razmara moved around on his stomach to face the man behind him. “Mahvash, we will go back the way we came. You lead, and I'll follow. Quickly! We have to get out of here.”

Both men got to their feet, and in a crouching run, retraced their footprints in the snow. Less than a minute later, they came to the place where their footprints went to the right, toward the strange container. They turned, and followed them.

Still clutching the mechanical bird, Razmara followed close behind Mahvash. A shot rang out, and Mahvash slumped to the ground a few meters in front of him. He caught a glimpse of the cameras on top of the container as he dropped to the ground. At the same instant he heard a second shot, he felt it pass just over his head. He lay still for a moment, his heart pounding, before starting to crawl urgently, and awkwardly, back the way he had come, still clutching the bird on his back.

When he reached the trail, he faced the decision he had been avoiding. What should he do next?

The route along the mountainside was blocked. The trail back into Iran was blocked. The only other way, was the trail into Azerbaijan, but that would mean trying to meet up with his men, continuing with their mission, many months away from his family, and, in all likelihood, ending up dead or in prison for years. It also meant leaving the mechanical bird behind.

He started to crawl toward Azerbaijan, not because that was his intended destination, but because it was the only direction he could put distance between himself and the ambushers and their killer machine. When he had crawled several hundred meters, he looked back, confirmed no one was in view, and got to his feet. He turned to the right, intending to climb the side of the pass, and get high enough for the walkie-talkie radio to reach his men waiting at the barricade. He needed to find out what had happened to them, and whether they were capable of mounting an attack to rescue him.

He walked quickly across the snow-covered rock, looking continually to his right to ensure nothing came after him. He had yet to see any sign of the men directing the machines.
The container he had seen was clearly incapable of moving under its own power, but it was empty, and that meant it had held something. Perhaps, what it had held was capable of pursuing him.

He began to climb the steep mountainside. It was difficult with one hand gripping the bird on his back, but he climbed as far as he could in the fading light. When he was high above the pass, he felt a little safer. The darkness would hide him. Tomorrow, he would find a way past the strange container with the camera eyes, and the hidden ambushers, back into Iran.

He found a ledge, almost a shallow cave, and placed the mechanical bird as far back on the ledge as he could. He didn't want a gust of wind blowing his precious prize away. He sat with his back against the rock of the mountainside, took out his radio, and pressed the transmit button.

“This is Captain Razmara. Come in. Come in.”

He took his finger off the transmit button, and listened to the buzz of static.

He looked at the fluorescent dial of his watch, a present from his wife, and decided to try the radio every half hour. It would help pass what promised to be a sleepless night.

Razmara pulled the collar of his coat up to reach his woolen cap. He was warm if not particularly comfortable. Thank God, he had worn his thick sheepskin coat. It would ensure he didn't die of exposure on this mountainside.

Would the men come searching for him in the dark or wait until dawn. He gripped his pistol and peered into the darkness, waiting.

Chapter 33

Chapter 31

2005-12-04T19:40:00.000-08:00

Mihail Kogalniceanu Military Air Base, Romania
April 12, 2006, 1600 Local Time

Charles found their project room in the portable office, adequate if somewhat cramped. They had setup their monitoring equipment on a large table in the center of the room. To a causal observer, it would have looked a jumbled mess of computer racks, screens, and cabling. Charles knew everything was carefully labeled for rapid assembly.

Army technicians had helped them connect to the base's communications network, and via satellite back to the rest of the MAADS team in Nevada. Despite Charles' assurances that all their machines were clean, and had never been connected to a public network, the technicians still insisted on setting up a double firewall between their equipment and the network. They told Charles that at the slightest hint of trouble, they would disconnect the MAADS computers.

Charles was not concerned because his people knew they should never connect a computer on a secure network to a public network. As an added precaution, none of the secure machines had exchangeable media - diskettes or CD ROM drives. The only way to load stuff from outside the secure network was through a pair of machines kept in a locked room. It was inconvenient and a source of complaints, but Charles had seen what happens when you breach security rules, and he knew investigators crawling all over your project was a lot more inconvenient.

Charles stood in front of the three screens showing a live image from each of the still functioning MAADS control units. Every ten seconds, the screens switched between visual and infrared. They received both images simultaneously, but didn't have enough screens, and alternating between them was the best solution to monitoring what both images showed. If necessary, they could stop on one of them.

All three screens showed falling snow, with a visibility of less than thirty meters. Snow on the infrared had a mesmerizing quality that Charles found hard to pull his eyes away from.

He glanced at the clock. The live images depended on a satellite overhead that was only available about ten hours out of twelve. They would lose the satellite, and consequently the live images, in thirty minutes time, and be blind to what was happening to all three MAADS systems for almost two hours. It wouldn't affect MAADS autonomous operation, but Charles always worried when they couldn't see what was happening to the deployed systems.

He joined Fiona, who was reviewing the images from the aerial vehicle, monitoring the infiltrators at the river crossing. The rope bridge was complete, and through the snow they could see men crossing the bridge, one at a time. The infiltrators were clearly visible on the infrared image. They stood out as bright red dots against the blue snow-covered background. Some were starting to make their way up the trail leading to the pass containing the destroyed MAADS system.

Fiona said, “I'm going to bring the aerial vehicle down to a level not much higher than the treetops, in order to see through the snow on the visual image.”

Charles asked, “How is the aerial vehicle performing?”

“So far, the aerial vehicle has performed flawlessly.”

Their concern, the mountains would cause data transmission problems, had not so far eventuated, and their software solution to the aerial vehicle losing contact with the network was still untested.

The next twenty hours would be critical. Charles was already tired, and felt he should take the opportunity to sleep, before the night's activity.

Charles' current concern was how the aerial vehicle would perform in the steadily falling snow.

“Fiona, did you ever fly the aerial vehicle in snow?”

“Yes we did, although there are different kinds of snow. When the temperature is around freezing, snow tends to melt and refreeze on metallic surfaces. This is especially true when air is moving over a surface, like the wing of a plane in flight, causing a water-ice mixture to cool through evaporation and form ice.

“Ice accumulation on the wings is the problem that brings planes down because it changes the aerodynamic characteristics of the flight surfaces. Our aerial vehicle's wings are not metallic, and are not prone to ice accumulation, but parts of its body are. Ice accumulation on the vehicle's non-flying surfaces is not a problem until the weight becomes significant, which has never happened with our aerial vehicle, but it could if the vehicle is in a snowstorm long enough.”

Fiona glanced at the screens showing the images from the three MAADS control units, and gasped. Charles looked across to see what had caused her reaction. Two men, one of whom was armed with a rifle, were clearly visible on one of the screens. The image switched to the infrared, and the men’s faces and hands showed bright red against the blue background and the lighter red of their bodies. He could now clearly see the second man had a pistol in his hand. The MAADS control unit should have killed both men, the instant it saw them. Could they possibly be friendlies no one had told them about?

Two hours earlier, Captain Freedman had met the MAADS support team for the first time. Charles would have preferred not to have a crisis as his introduction to MAADS, but he needed to keep the Captain informed.

“Arjay, get Captain Freedman immediately. Tell him it’s an emergency. His number's beside the telephone”

The image of the two men switched back to the visual, and the camera resumed its 360-degree scan.

What on earth was happening? MAADS was not supposed to behave like this. He glanced up at the wall clock. Less than five minutes before they lost the real-time images. Why did this have to happen now? Not only would they no longer be able to see what was happening, they would be unable to issue commands to the MAADS system.

“Richard, get Jennie on the phone. Now! Then come and see this.”

Richard and Jennie were unusually close for software developers, who by the nature of their occupation tended to be individualists. Richard was the spokesperson for the pair, and in almost all situations Richard would speak while Jennie remained silent. However, Richard frequently consulted with her before answering a question. Richard rarely referred to their relationship, but had once remarked to Charles that Jen was a much better coder than he was, not because she was smarter, but because she was a natural. Often Jen would immediately see the solution to a problem that might take him hours to solve through logical analysis.

Even before Richard had finished dialing, Charles had picked up the extension, and was listening to the sound of a phone ringing. A sleepy sounding voice answered. “What?”

“Jennie, this is Charles. We have a problem.”

“What! What is it? Richard are you there?”

“Yes Jen, I'm here.”

“OK, let me have it.”

Charles said, “I want you to go the lab, and review the System D images for the last fifteen minutes, then look at the code, and try to figure out what is happening. You got that Jen, Richard?”

“Yes, Charles.”

Captain Freedman strode into the project room, rearranging his uniform. “I hope you realize my job does not include helping you fix technical or operational problems.”

“Captain Freedman, at least two armed men have approached the System D control unit, and MAADS has not killed them.”

“Why? Is there a malfunction?”

“We don't know, but we are trying to find out right now. Is it possible there are people in the area of System D with Identification, Friend or Foe devices?”

“Not unless there has been the mother of all security breaches.“

Richard interjected, “He's right. The men are not wearing IFFs.”

“I know you can override the control unit, and tell it what to do. Can you tell it to kill these infiltrators?”

“Not directly, but ... ”

Charles looked up at the clock and knew there wasn't enough time before they lost the satellite and consequently the ability to send commands to the MAADS control unit.

“... there isn't enough time. We lose the satellite link in less than a minute.”

“Does this affect the Ranger mission?”

“It might, but we won't know for the next two hours, until the satellite comes back online.”

Captain Freedmen asked, “That’s all?”

“Yes, Captain. That’s all we know at this time.”

Captain Freedman left the room. Charles assumed to report to his superiors.
He was back in less than five minutes.

“I have the following orders for you. The Army Ranger mission is now the overriding priority. You will take all steps necessary to ensure the success of the mission, up to and including, destroying part or all of the MAADS systems should they jeopardize the mission. If anything occurs that poses a risk or threat to the mission, then you will inform me immediately.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Your final order is, you will provide a full briefing to Colonel Saltvitz at 0000 hours, that’s 12:00 midnight. I will stay here until that time.”

Charles recognized Freedman was a by-the-book officer who didn't like surprises.

“There is not much you can do to help, Captain.”

“It's not my job to help, Mr. Corrigan. It’s my job to liaise. That means, I observe, try to understand, and report back to my superiors.”

“Then we will do our best to help you understand.”

“I'd appreciate that, Mr. Corrigan.”

Charles wasn't sure if he detected an element of skepticism in Freedman's tone.

Charles asked, “Richard, what’s happening with the control unit? Why did it fail to identify the two men as targets? We need an answer in the next two hours.”

“Jen is looking at the code right now, and we are talking our way through it.”

“You don't have the source code here?”

“No, I don't. But Jen can tell me what I need to know, and if necessary, I can download the source.”

“As soon as you think you have an answer, tell me.”

“Of course, Charles.”

“Fiona, how much longer can the aerial vehicle stay up?”

“In normal circumstances the aerial vehicle would stay up another two hours before refueling, but it has been doing a lot of elevation changes, which consumes fuel, and we don't known the effect of the snow. With the satellite going offline for two hours, I brought the refueling forward.

It's on its way back to the control unit right now.”

Fiona turned to Charles and he could see the anxiety in her face. “I was worried about the effect the snow is having on its power consumption. Because we can’t read the fuel status remotely, I have to guess at fuel consumption. I was just being cautious. I didn’t want our single aerial vehicle crashing because it ran out of fuel.”

Captain Freedman interjected, “I read in the specification that remote monitoring of fuel levels was a requirement. Why can’t you do it?”

Fiona hesitantly answered, “Mostly, because of weight considerations. Weight is always an issue with anything that flies. That’s why birds, I mean real birds, have hollow bones, to save weight.”

Charles thought, dropping the ability to monitor the aerial vehicle's fuel level remotely had been a significant error. One they would have to rectify in the next version of MAADS, assuming there was a next version.

Charles could see the decisions and compromises he had made for good reasons at the time, combine with unforeseeable events to result in failure at a critical point. Men had breached the control unit’s defenses, the aerial vehicle would arrive early for its refueling because of Fiona’s caution and their inability to read the fuel level, the satellite communications were out, and they didn’t know what was happening, nor could they intervene to stop it. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Charles told himself, there was no point in speculating. He needed to concentrate on what they did know. Charles walked over to Richard who was sitting in front of two laptop computers with earphones and a microphone headset on. He occasionally spoke into the microphone, while alternating his typing between the laptops.

Charles tapped him on the shoulder. Richard looked up, said something into the microphone, and then moved the earphones away from his ears.

“What can you tell me?”

“We're making progress.”

Which Charles knew to be geek-speak for 'We don't know what the problem is, but we are pretty sure we know some of the things it isn't'. He understood troubleshooting software was a process of eliminating possibilities, and in Sherlock Holmes' immortal words 'when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth'.

Richard said, “What’s that, Jen?”

Richard slipped the earphones back on, and listened for a moment before pulling them back off.

“Jen says she has got the search software vendor's Chief Developer on the phone. We are going to switch to a three-way IM chat session, and he is going to talk us through possible causes.”

“Make sure you don't give him any specifics”

“Of course, I know the drill.”

Alan Jones had convinced them of the benefits of using commercially available software from small vendors. Military R&D projects in the UK had been doing this as a matter of course for several years. The USA in contrast had always built the software for classified projects from scratch. An approach that took longer, cost more, and caused ongoing maintenance headaches.

With small commercial software vendors, they would buy ten or twenty licenses, and immediately become the company's biggest customer. Consequently, they got the special treatment that big customers of small companies always get. They would feed in their requirements and priorities, and usually get what they wanted by the time they wanted it.

Charles glanced up at the wall clock. Less than an hour before the satellite came back online. Charles decided he would do what all managers of technical people should do at times of crisis. He went to get Pizza and Cokes. It also allowed him to avoid Captain Freedman’s questions.

He came back thirty minutes later with microwaved pizza and cans of no-name cola in a bag. He put them down on a small table against the wall, and then went around telling people to get the food while it was hot. People came over, grabbed their pizza and coke, and went back to work.

Charles intercepted Richard who had three pieces of pizza piled on a paper napkin. Without being asked, Richard told him what he wanted to know.

“We might have found the problem. Jen is checking it out right now.” Charles waved Captain Freedman over as Richard took a bite out the topmost piece of pizza.

Charles' assessment to Captain Freeman was more cautious. “We may have made some progress toward finding the problem with the MAADS control unit. Go on, Richard.” The pile of pizza slices stopped halfway to Richard's mouth.

“The search software does a series of range checks on the image components. When the software finds an image it is interested in, like a human body shape or a human head. It checks to see if the image's characteristics fall within certain values defined as the valid ranges for whatever it thinks it has detected. Does it have the right size, shape, etc.? One of the things it checks for is contrast in the infrared range.”

Charles asked, “So, if the contrast is too high or too low, the software concludes the image is not what it's looking for?”

“That’s our theory.”

“Who determined the levels of these settings?”

“Jen and I have never touched them, so they must be the default settings from the vendor.”

“What does the vendor say?”

“They say a person in a snowstorm might produce infrared contrasts outside the predefined valid ranges, but as far as I'm concerned the level of confidence we have on this, is one level above 'we don't know'. Although, Jen seems to think it would explain things, and if anyone should know, it's her.”

Captain Freedman, who had been following Richard's comments intently asked, “Can we test this?”

“Sure! Find me a MAADS control unit and a snowstorm, and I'd be happy to oblige you.”

“Richard, Captain Freedman is just doing his job. Captain, can I have a word with you.”

Both men stepped out of the room and onto the steps below the entrance to the temporary office. Charles said, “I'd like to apologize for Richard's behavior. He is under a lot of pressure, and he doesn't suffer fools gladly at the best of times. Not that I am implying you are a fool.”

“Apology accepted. And I am a fool when it comes to this stuff. Hell, I had to get my ten-year-old daughter to teach me how to use the Internet.”

Charles glimpsed a family man behind the formal and professionally reserved soldier.

“Until the satellite comes back online, we don’t know what has happened at the control unit, and I see no point in speculating. I just wanted to assure you, we will do everything we can to ensure the Colonel gets his surveillance.”

Both men returned to the project room, and Charles anxiously paced the limited space available, waiting for the next fifteen minutes to pass.

Chapter 32

Chapter 30

2005-12-04T19:26:00.000-08:00

Mihail Kogalniceanu Military Air Base, Romania
April 12, 2006

Major Blackwell summarized the plan to the group of officers, including Colonel Saltvitz and Captain Freedman, before reviewing the myriad details of operational planning.

“The planes leave at 0300 Juliet.

“Our mission is to block this pass,” He pointed to a large-scale map of the Talish Mountains.

“And prevent a large group of Iranian terrorists, up to a hundred and fifty men, entering Azerbaijan. We are authorized to use lethal force to stop them.

“The international border coincides with the highest point of the pass, and the drop zone is here, on the Azerbaijan side of the border.” The Major pointed to a satellite photograph where a rectangle with GPS locations was marked.

“The pass itself is mostly flat with no trees, but go off-course by more than a hundred and fifty meters, and you risk landing on a steep mountainside, so make sure everyone's GPS kit is working. I don't want anyone injured, or have to send out search parties for lost men.

“Everyone wears an IFF. There is equipment in the area of the drop zone that could be lethal to anyone not wearing one. The equipment is supposedly destroyed, but you stay alive in this business by not taking unnecessary risks.

“The pass is clear of snow, but a cold front will pass through later today, and the weather people are predicting snow, a few inches at most.”

“We expect to encounter the terrorists on day one, but if necessary we will stay in position for two days.”

He made a mental note to ensure everyone took five days of rations.

“We extract on foot as soon as our mission objectives are achieved, and no later than 1400 hours on day two. We rendezvous here,” Major Blackwell pointed to the map, “where CIA representatives who are responsible for arranging transport and security will meet us. The distance is about eighteen kilometers. Once we reach this location, we will be taken straight to the nearest military airfield where a plane will be waiting to fly us back here. I expect to be back by midnight on day two at the latest.”

“Major, are we sure the terrorists are coming?”

“Yes, we are sure. Some classified technology will tell us, to the minute, when they will arrive, assuming the technology works.”

“If the technology doesn't work, sir?”

“Then we do this the old-fashioned way. We rely on our forward scouts to tell us what's coming and when.

"We will position the men in a L-shaped ambush using the high-ground along one side of the pass. We will decide when we are on the ground whether to run the 'L' down the left or the right-hand side.

"The mortar team will be positioned back here, where they can fire rounds at the rear of the terrorist column, and we have them boxed in.”

“Sir, what do we know about the terrorists?”

“We understand the terrorist infiltrators are mostly Iranian Revolutionary Guards. The Revolutionary Guards are a paramilitary militia force trained to maintain public order, and deal with civil disturbances. They do get some military training as they are also a counterweight to the regular army, and one of their functions is to prevent or resist a military coup. We doubt they have been trained to maneuver under fire, and even if they have, there is limited room to maneuver, as high mountains surround the pass.

“Our Intel says there is no risk from the Azerbaijan side, but we will take the standard precautions.

“We are arranging for a Medevac helicopter to be on standby, but as of now, it's not guaranteed, and we can use it only if there is serious injury or other life-threatening situation. Walking wounded, do just that, walk, and that applies to US casualties only.

“Iranian casualties are given field medical treatment, and will not, under any circumstances, be medevaced out. I hope to be able to give you more details on the Medevac at our final briefing at 0130 hours.

“One other thing. Three Delta Force soldiers will be accompanying us. Their mission is to verify the status of some classified military equipment. The details of their mission are also classified, but you should give them every assistance.”

The Major's final statement left most of them wondering how US classified equipment got to the top of some mountains no one had ever heard off, but classified meant don't ask, so they were left to wonder.

***

On his return, Razmara spoke to his officers, and told them to proceed across the secondary pass without him. He would meet up with them in the village of Bagiol, in three days time.

They had thirty horses carrying weapons and supplies. He gave orders to distribute two day's rations, and detailed six men to return to Iran with the horses and the rest of the supplies.
Five minutes later, the Department of Liberation Major came over to him, clearly angry, and addressed Razmara in a loud voice.

“Why are you sending the weapons back?”

“Major, we need to discuss this.”

Razmara turned away from him and walked back into the trees. They would at least do this in private. The Major started shouting orders behind him. Razmara didn't need to look back to know his men would follow his example and walk away.

The Major joined him, having concluded he would have to go through Razmara to get what he wanted.

The Major said, “Captain, you are perilously close to a court marshal for disobeying orders.”
Razmara said nothing. His primary responsibility was the welfare of his men and maintaining discipline.

“I order you to take all the explosives, detonators and as many RPGs and rifles as possible.”

“We cannot get the horses across the river and without the horses we cannot carry the weapons.”

“Why did you distribute extra rations?”

“The men will need them. It will take an extra two days to reach our objective.”

“Men who can carry food can carry explosives and weapons. Allocate eight kilograms to each man. It is up to them whether they carry additional food.”

Razmara said, “Men cannot eat explosives.”

“God will provide.”

Razmara thought, 'And if he doesn't and discipline breaks down, will you court marshal God?'

Razmara reluctantly issued orders that every man carry an extra eight kilogram load comprised of explosives, weapons and ammunition, in addition to the two day's rations.

He selected his twenty men, and told them they would be not be going with the main party, but crossing with him, over the pass at the head of this valley. He didn't refer to the ambushers. The men understood this would be more than a simple crossing of a mountain pass, but he was a good officer, and they trusted him.

A half hour later, Razmara and his twenty selected men moved out, and less than an hour after that they were at the barricade, he had ordered constructed. He told the six men there, they had done a good job, even though he had positioned them as an expendable tripwire to give the main force time to prepare for an attack. The men reported that nothing of significance had happened, and they had not moved beyond the barricade.

The six happily complied with his order to join the main force and left. The cold rain did nothing to dampen their good spirits at rejoining their comrades.

Razmara briefed his men on their mission. “Our orders are to attack the ambushers, and discover their identity. If possible, we should capture one of them. Headquarters believe they may be Russian, but we need to confirm that.”

He tried to recall what he had read about infantry tactics. He had wanted to introduce some basic infantry tactics into his training program, but senior officers discouraged any variations from the prescribed Revolutionary Guard's training regime that mostly consisted of drilling and exercises to practice control of civil disturbances. Occasionally, they would have live firing at the army range outside of town.

The book that made the most impression on him, emphasized maneuver around defenders in dug-in, fixed positions. He didn't know if the ambushers were dug-in or even in fixed positions since no one left alive had seen them, but he would assume they were.

He was left with the problem of how to maneuver in this narrow steep sided valley. He scanned the mountainside with his binoculars as his men silently watched him.

“Five men will come with me, climb up the mountainside, and search for a route that will take us to a position where we can see down, and fire down, on the ambushers. That is, if they are still there.”

He produced four of the Chinese made walkie-talkie radios the Revolutionary Guards used. “We will use these to communicate.”

The radios were only good for line-of-sight communication up to a range of a couple of kilometers. They didn't work well, and frequently at all, when buildings or hills blocked the signal.

Razmara selected the five men who would come with him, and proceeded to explain his plan.
“The men with me will take three of the radios.

“Sergeant Zaker, you will have the fourth radio. I want you to take nine men, and advance up the trail to the point it turns to the right, then wait there for my signal.

“Once we are all in position, we will have a coordinated attack. The men with me will engage the enemy from above while the men waiting on the trail, advance and engage them from this direction. The remaining four men will stay behind at the barricade, and protect our rear.

“Sergeant Zaker, you and the men waiting on the trail will only advance on my signal. Do not fire unless you can clearly see a target, and you are sure it is not one of our men. I don't want us shooting at each other. If by dusk you do not receive my radio signal, you are to return here, to the barricade, and wait for our return. Under no circumstances are you to advance up the trail without my signal. Separate groups of men not in communication moving around, especially in the dark, is too dangerous.

“Do you understand?”

The Sergeant replied, “Yes, sir!”

“If you hear or see men coming down the trail toward you, you will call out 'blue'. The response is 'water'. Make sure you call loudly. Anyone who fires a weapon, without calling out the challenge and waiting for a response, will be court marshaled.

“We stay in contact using the radios. I want the men with radios to report into me every fifteen minutes. Otherwise, the radios are set to receive.”

It sounded a feasible plan as he described it, but the men had no experience of performing these kinds of coordinated maneuvers, and he was afraid they would end up shooting at each other, despite his precautions.

He went over the plan one more time as the cold rain turned to snow.

While the men prepared, Razmara thought about the snow that was settling on the ground making the rocks slippery underfoot. It would make the climb treacherous, but at the same time, it would hide their approach as snow muffled sounds as well as obscuring vision. Perhaps, the snow was a good thing after all. He considered whether to wait for the snow to stop, and decided to proceed. There were at least four hours of daylight left. Sufficient time to climb along the mountainside, and get to see their enemy, if he was still there.

Razmara, and the five men accompanying him, climbed up the increasingly steep mountainside, and the valley floor disappeared into the swirling snow. They moved slowly, each man stepping with care, to ensure they did not slip. The five men he had selected were all from mountain villages, and familiar with this kind of terrain.

Sooner than he anticipated, the lead man found what they were looking for, a narrow trail than ran along the mountainside. The lead man had explained to him, mountain sheep made these paths, and the sheep would always find the easiest route to traverse any steep slope. They cautiously followed the narrow trail as the snow fell.

An hour later, Razmara estimated they had progressed four hundred meters. The steadily falling snow still hid the valley floor, and if anything fell more heavily. As he anticipated, the radios performed badly, and he had left one of the men on the mountainside in order to maintain radio contact, by means of a relay, with the men waiting on the trail.

Razmara thought they must be above the ambushers’ position, and now was the decisive moment because they couldn't spend the night on this precarious path. He could see nothing below them through the swirling snow. Razmara was just behind the lead man. He tapped him on the shoulder, and signaled to stop. He took care to speak quietly as he ordered him to find a way down the mountainside. He then told the other three men to unshoulder their weapons, and be ready to fire at any movement they saw. Surprise was their only advantage. Once the element of surprise had passed, more experienced and better-trained soldiers would likely overcome his men. He silently voiced a prayer.

The five men slowly made their way down the mountainside. Razmara strained to see through the snow, and detect any signs of movement ahead. The tension and exertion made all of them sweat copiously despite the freezing weather.

Razmara had decided, when they reached the trail, they would turn back toward the men waiting at the barricade. The sooner all his men were together, the happier he would be. He still worried they would end up shooting at each other.

There was no sign of the ambushers. Razmara began to feel they were long gone, and he and his men would get out of this alive. He held his pistol in one hand, while he nervously fingered the radio with the other, ready to give the signal to the men waiting on the trail.

The lead man stopped suddenly, where the ground fell way in front of him. Razmara couldn't see what was ahead. The men behind him stopped, searching for any signs of movement through the falling snow. Razmara moved forward to the point he could see what had caused the lead man to stop so abruptly.

Chapter 31

Chapter 29

2005-12-04T19:22:00.000-08:00

A high valley in the Talish Mountains, Iran
April 11&12, 2006

Razmara drank the tea brewed by one of the guards, and reviewed his situation. Mahdavi had given him a direct order to attack the ambushers with his best men, while the rest of the Revolutionary Guards took the secondary pass over the mountains. His only alternatives were to either capture one of them or take significant casualties trying.

The sun was setting over the mountains to the west, and they would need to stay the night here. He wanted to get back to his men, but he would do them no good if his horse threw him in the dark.

“We stay here tonight.”

“Yes, sir. Do you want me to go down to the village, and see if I can get fresh meat and vegetables?”

“It's not necessary. Besides, it’s too early in the year in these mountains for vegetables, and it’s too far to bring them in from the warmer lowlands.”

They would eat dry bread with canned meat. He didn't mind. It reminded him of when he was a boy and the hungry months of spring, when bread was all anyone had to eat, except the old man. He had never really thought about it before, but the old man always had a variety of foods. Where did he get them and how did he pay for them?

Even after the Revolutionary Council had confiscated his house and land, the old man must still have had some money hidden away, perhaps a lot of money.

Few people in the village had money. Most were subsidence farmers. A handful worked for the government. The rest were day laborers living a hand-to-mouth existence, and without the subsidized government ration they would have gone hungry.

He knew the itinerant traders, who passed through the village and setup their stalls in the meager marketplace, called at the old man's hut because he had seen them there. The old man must have bought the food from them.

When Razmara was twelve years old, the old man disappeared. One day he was there as usual in his hut. Three days later, when Razmara came to do his regular chores, the old man was gone, and the hut torn to pieces, almost demolished.

Razmara ran home to tell his father, but his father didn't seem interested. Razmara wanted to know where the old man had gone. He missed the treats, but he missed the old man more. His father told him to forget about the old man. He was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

He decided the old man had found a way to get back to America. That was it. The old man had gone back to America. In the months and years afterwards, he often thought about the old man back in America, and hoped he would write, but he never did.

It was years later before he found out, from a fellow officer in the Revolutionary Guards, what really happened to the old man. He had been arrested, and threatened with torture unless he revealed where his secret hoard of money was hidden. They didn't torture him. Just roughed him up a bit, but it was enough to break the old man's spirit. He was found hanging in his cell the next morning. If anyone found his money, they kept quiet about it.

Up until the day he found out what had really happened to the old man, he had always accepted Iran's Islamic government. It wasn't perfect, far from it, but it was the best system for the country, and the best defense against the infidels, the Jews, and the Great Satan. It was strange thinking back, America the Great Satan and the America he imagined from the old man's descriptions were different places. Some trick of the mind separated them to ensure there was no dissonance resulting from those very different visions.

The day he found out what had happened to the old man, was the day the barrier that kept the two Americas separate fell away, as well as other barriers his mind had formed. Things, he had previously just accepted, began to trouble him. He questioned things he had previously never questioned, only in private of course. A Captain in the Islamic Republic's Revolutionary Guards Corps had to maintain appearances. He tried to confide in his wife, but she became agitated when he broached the subject, and told him, he had made a good life in the Guards. He was an officer, and his prospects for further promotion were good. He had a happy home, and was a respected member of society. She begged him not to throw it away by questioning these things in public.

He kept his doubts to himself, and continued to be a loyal and dedicated officer, but what was previously genuine, became increasingly a sham. Not his dedication to his men and being a good officer. That was still real. His loyalty to the regime became just a facade put in place because it was required. None of his fellow officers seemed to notice the change in him.

Razmara lay on the ground, and wrapped himself in the thick blanket his wife had insisted he take. His mind was troubled, and he lay awake for a long time. Thoughts of what he had to do tomorrow, the old man and his stories of America, and his wife and children competed for his attention.

One of the guards shook him awake in the cold early light of dawn. The grass was white with frost. His joints ached, as he walked around trying to get warm. The second guard placed a cup of hot tea in his hands, and he sipped its sweet warmth.

Fifteen minutes later, they were riding back up the trail as the early morning light gradually increased to full daylight. It would be at least an hour before the sun rose high enough to shine directly onto the valley floor. He looked at the sky. The previous day's clear blue was giving way to clouds coming in from the west. It was still early enough in the year to snow at this elevation. He hoped not. Crossing the pass in a snowstorm would be treacherous, and he didn't want men with broken bones with the nearest doctor days away.

Chapter 30