“I’m sorry but I will not be able to comply with your request. I will have the Nellis materials sent to you this week,” Devin replied.
“That simply will not do. My letter was quite specific. All operations under your command are to be reviewed. You misunderstand if you think this is a request. You are hereby ordered to turn over the proper documentation,” Carter said.
“Ordered? And what are you going to do about it if I tell you to stick your order up your ass? Report me? Just who do you think you would report me to?”
“I will damn sure find out who your superior is and take the necessary steps to ensure compliance.”
“Good luck with that,” Devin said and slammed down the phone. He rubbed his hands across his bald head and leaned back in his chair. He could have just told the guy that he doesn’t have but one superior, the President, but he didn’t feel he had to explain anything to some bureaucrat. He wanted to protect the MJ–12 group’s integrity and make sure that they would be able to maintain the highest level of security.
Truman had ordered that the commander of all programs under development by the MJ group would only answer to him. It was a policy in the original Operations Procedure Manual of MJ–12 and it had not been changed since 1948. Just to be on the safe side, he decided he would make a report on all the projects under development. Well, maybe not all of them would be detailed. Level 10 would certainly not be mentioned. The Black Star project was his baby and no one was going to find out about that, not even the President.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Strike–1, Fox Oscar. We have the subject in sight. You are go.”
“Fox Oscar, Strike–1, Roger go. Initiating contact now.”
The twelve men who made up this mission were dressed in total black. All had generation five night vision goggles. Two men carried Tango 51 sniper rifles with laser sights. The Tango 51 was a fluted bull barrel rifle, precision built around the Remington M700 action and used standard NATO 7.62 X 51mm rounds.
Two others on the team carried the newest H & K MP5a with Beta C magazines. They looked like two canisters on either side of the weapon and each could hold up to 50 rounds. This allowed the operator to fire 100 rounds before having to reload.
The rest of the team had the H & K MP5SDA2 integrally suppressed 9mm weapons. The team leader gave the signal to spread out and the number three and five team members were to take out the two lookouts on top of the building. Because of the speed of the bullets it was not totally possible to suppress all of the noise. The twin pops as the shooters pulled their triggers were only barely noticeable above the background din of other fighting going on in the city.
The mission of Strike–1 was to rescue four Rangers that had been captured during the fighting earlier in the week. The team leader held his forces in place until he was sure no alert was sounded. After thirty seconds he decided to have his troops move to the ingress point. The two sharpshooters stayed in place as a rear guard. The other ten men made their way, like shadows across the moon, toward the two doors that would take them inside the prison.
They had no way of knowing how many guards were inside but intelligence reports said that they could expect twenty to thirty men. The Strike-1 team split up with five going to the first door and the other five to the second. The leader waited until both teams were in place.
“Ready?”
“All set”
The team leader took out two flash-bang grenades and pulled the pins.
“On my mark,” the told the team at the other door.
“Three, two, one, mark,” he said, pushing open the door and tossing the grenades, one after the other, into the doorway. He quickly pulled the door closed as first one grenade exploded and then the second. He could hear the same thing going on at the other team’s door.
“Go. Go. Go,” he yelled as the men rushed into the room, guns ready.
Two shadows moved toward them, one brought up an AK-47 and two of the members fired at the same time. Both men went down, not moving.
They went through the building, clearing each room. One of the Strike–1 members was hit in the knee and went down hard.
“Damn,” was all he said.
He pulled himself over to the wall and sat against it. The number five member knelt down and checked the injury. He injected an ampule of morphine in his leg and placed a compression bandage around it. The others moved on until they came to the stairs that led down to the cells.
Just as they were starting down the stairs, an enemy solider fired up from below. The round hit Number Two under the chin, went up through his mouth and out the top of his head. He was dead before he hit the ground. They quickly pulled his body back and checked but there was nothing they could do. The number three member threw a flash bang grenade down the stairs and as soon as it exploded the remaining men rushed down, firing as they went.
They killed six of the opposition as they swarmed into the large room. There were ten cells and they quickly opened them, searching for the missing American Rangers. All they found were empty cells. They rushed up the stairs and exited the building to the other door. Carefully they entered, not wanting to be mistaken by their own force. As soon as the door opened a hail of gunfire greeted them. The team leader closed the door and looked at his hand. One of his fingers was missing and only a bloody stub remained.
Until he looked, he didn’t even realize he was hit. His first thought was that if there was that much firepower being thrown at them, the other team is either in big trouble or have all been killed.
“Get ready to throw grenades in there,” he said and two men pulled the pins.
“Now,” he said and yanked open the door. The grenades sailed through the air as a burst of automatic weapon fire erupted. Both grenades went off with a loud bang and he yanked open the door again. No one fired at them as they rushed in and immediately opened fire on the men inside.
When they ceased firing it was eerily still. Smoke drifted in the air but nothing was moving. This side of the building was a duplicate of the one they had first attacked. They made their way to the stairs and this time they lobbed down flash bangs before rushing down to the cells. Four of the team members were dead and the remaining one was still hanging on to life. They opened the cells and found the rangers all together. They had been shot in the head.
“They were in the cells. When we came down they poured out and started shooting. They had us in crossfire,” the wounded team member said, blood coming from his mouth. He had been hit in the thigh, stomach, chest and arm. Nothing they could do here was going to save him.
“Raven–1, Strike-1, Fly the coop.”
“Strike-1, the bird has flown. Status?”
“Raven–1, Strike–1, 5-6-2-0.”
“Roger, copy, 5-6-2-0.”
He had just informed that five team members were functional, six were KIA, two were wounded in action. No Rangers were found alive. It was not the kind of report they were used to sending.
In two minutes the Blackhawk was on location and the bodies loaded along with the others. The Strike–1 member who was wounded in the second group never made it back to base. He died shortly after the chopper lifted off. It was the worst day since the formation of the Strike–1 team.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Adam Carter knocked on the door of the Chief of Staff.
“Yes. Please come on in.”
“It’s Adam Carter,” he said, sticking his head in the door. He had met the Chief of Staff only once before and didn’t particularly think he was very sharp. In fact, he wondered how he had ever maneuvered his way to such a powerful position.