In these last few seconds before stepping out into thin air, all traces of the big Pole's queasiness disappeared. He no longer had to wrestle with his fear that he would lose his composure. All conscious thought was gone. Like the other nine members of the CRAP team to which he belonged, his body and mind responded as it had been trained and conditioned to do. Stanislaus Dombrowski was no longer a Pole far from home serving a country that was not his. He was no longer a man who had a particularly acute fear of heights and flying. He was a legionnaire, and as such, a highly skilled professional killing machine thundering through the open door of the C-160 transport without hesitation, without regard for personal consequences. When combined with the other members of his team, these men of the 2eme Bataillon Etranger Parachutiste became a force to be reckoned with.
Chapter 2
From his scat against the wall, Major Andrew Fretello, United Slates Army, listened attentively as an Air Force lieutenant colonel answered questions that were being thrown at him by the bevy of generals and admirals seated around a conference table. Though the Chief of Staff of the Air Force was doing his best to deflect some of the more pointed inquiries concerning the plan the colonel had just presented, it was clear to Fretello that both the briefer as well as his proposal were 011 the verge of foundering. His solution to the problem under discussion contained little that was new. Anyone who regularly participated in these unannounced war games was familiar with the standard Air Force response to a crisis. That alone, Fretello reasoned as he watched, was grounds enough for the unmerciful pounding to which the briefer was being subjected.
A Naval lieutenant commander sealed next to Fretello leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Stealth bombers and smart bombs. Stealth bombers and smart bombs. Doesn't the Air Force know anything else?"
Fretello pulled away and gave the Naval officer a funny look. "What docs the Navy have to deal with in this situation that the Air Force doesn't?"
The lieutenant commander smiled as he tapped the Navy SEAL emblem pinned on his chest. "We have Demi Moore!"
As a longtime member of the Army's Special Forces, Fretello appreciated the joke. Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, he suppressed a groan. Without a word, he turned his attention back to the briefing.
As well as exercising DoD's Crisis Action Team or CAT. readiness tests and no-notice war games such as this gave talented officers like Fretello an opportunity to engage in some high-speed exercises that were as exotic as they were intriguing. The face time before the military's most senior leadership wasn't anything to sneeze at either. That is, of course, provided they liked what you were saying. In the case of the poor Air Force officer nervously twirling his laser pointer about as he waited for the next volley of questions, it was obvious that his briefing had fallen wide of the mark.
"Let me gel this straight," the Army's Chief of Plans and Operations said as he shifted about in his seat. "The best your plan can deliver is a ninety-percent success rate."
The Air Force officer, standing before the gathered generals like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car, was quick to respond. "That's for the first strike only. The follow-up strike would, without doubt, eliminate those targets that were not neutralized by the initial attack."
Picking up the Army general's point, the Chief of Naval Operations leaned back in his seat and waved his hand about. "What makes you think the missiles that survived your first strike will still be there? The Russians, after all, also understand the principle of use 'em or lose 'em. I'm sure there isn't a man at this table who wouldn't be pounding down the President's door demanding he issue the release order if the Russians or Chinese had destroyed ninety percent of a key component of our strategic nuclear force." The admiral paused only long enough to see how many were shaking their heads in agreement before pressing on. "I'm afraid that no matter how you dress this solution up, Colonel, it isn't going to hack it. Our first strike will be our only strike. Though it is a trite old saying, 'Failure, even ten-percent's worth, is not an option.' "
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, having heard enough of the Air Force's plan, nodded in agreement. "Admiral Langsdorf is correct. The parameters set down for this exercise require not only a rapid and overwhelming response, but one that provides us with one-hundred-percent results, guaranteed."
Angered by this statement, the Chief of Staff of the Air Force threw his hands up in frustration. "Christ! You might as well ask us to deliver the moon and the stars." Pausing only long enough to rein in his anger, he continued: "We've all been involved in military operations. We all know that there is no such thing as guarantees when it comes to combat. Only a fool would make one."
After staring at the Air Force general for a moment, just to make sure that he was finished, the Chairman swiveled his seat around until he was looking at the Chief of Staff of the Army. "Well, Chuck. How's the Army's inventory of fools looking these days?" Smiling, General Chuck E. Smith glanced over at Fretello. "Well, sir, if it's a fool you want, I've got one on deck, primed and ready to go." Turning back to face the other Joint Chiefs and their senior operations officers, Smith introduced the man who would present the Army's solution to the exercise problem the CAT was convened to resolve. "Major Andrew Fretello is a plans-and-operations officer at Fort Bragg. He's served with Special Force units in Central and South America, Europe, and Southwest Asia. Though still quite junior, his planning of and participation in several special projects, including last year's raid against the Iraqi chemical-warfare facilities, make him eminently qualified to deal with the situation at hand."
Taking his cue, Fretello stood up and quickly made his way to the front of the room. He carried no notes, no handouts. All of his briefing charts and diagrams were already in the hands of the NCO charged with operating the briefing room's audio-visual equipment. Fretello didn't even carry a pointer. In his opinion, they were a crutch used by weak or nervous briefing officers. By the time Smith was finished with the introduction, the Special Forces major, decked out in his greens, stood tall before the assembled general officers, straphangers, and fellow briefers. Having participated in numerous planning sessions, Fretello knew he could ignore just about everyone in the room. The only person he needed to be concerned with during the course of his presentation was the most senior officer present. He and no one else set the tone and pace. Having been afforded the opportunity to observe how the Chairman had handled those who went before him, it was clear that the man was using this exercise as a true working session. This, Fretello realized, allowed him greater freedom in the manner in which to proceed.
After finishing a hushed conversation with his aide, who was dutifully seated behind his boss, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff twisted his seat about, locked eyes with Fretello, and gave him a nod. "Before proceeding any further, sir," Fretello stated crisply as he stood before the Chairman, "I wish to restate the parameters under which we are operating as set out in the initial planning guidance. The only criteria enumerated in the mission statement was one-hundred-percent destruction of the designated targets. To achieve this, the planning guidance stated that we can draw upon any national asset except special weapons. Nowhere was there any mention of limitations such as collateral damage, friendly casualties, or violation of the airspace of nations either affected by or not involved in the operation. I am therefore assuming that these factors are of no concern to us."
The Chairman nodded. "You are correct, Major. At this juncture, we are concerned only with an OPLAN that will achieve complete destruction of the targets."