“No kidding.”
“Got it, Senior Chief.”
“All mobility skills will be under the purview of T-Ball. I want an SOP for fastrope, CAST, rappel, and even jump operations. T-Ball, you are going to become the det’s premier HRST and CAST-master.”
“I need the school, Senior.”
“Already arranged. Ash, you are to take demolition. I do not want just basic range clearance stuff; I want a monster SOP that covers the demo required for all other mission areas. I’m talking underwater demo build up, special shape charge attacks on mines, and breaching.”
“Wow, okay.”
“I will take IEDs and Small Unit Tactics… and, Chief K.”
“Yes?”
“You are obviously our diving and MCM expert, so I would like you to review our procedures there and spearhead all associated procedural changes. I recommend you include all emergency procedures for diving.”
“Okay, Senior.”
“Lieutenant Jascinski, I did not suggest a mission area for you because your job will be to review all mission areas, apply your common sense approach, suggest revisions, and of course exert veto power when needed.”
Jazz just nodded.
“Two weeks gents, all SOP reviews need to be completed in two weeks. Then we’ll each brief our area.”
“Senior Chief,” said Keating. “I think that this is a great idea.”
Jazz was fined seven cases of beer during Det Four’s time at TEU TWO. For him nearly all of the evolutions were firsts. First night patrol, first waterborne insertion, first rappel, first fastrope, first CAST, first CAST at night.
Navies the world over possess in their arsenals drifting mines, the jellyfish of naval warfare. These are the death orbs from World War II movies with multiple horns protruding from their top half. They float at or near the ocean’s surface running with the ocean’s current.
A drifting mine campaign is not precise. The minelayer merely hopes that the mine ends in the path of a ship, any ship. He does not know who, when, or where one of his mines will find its prey. It simply drifts, waiting for the force of an unsuspecting ship to impact the horns. Shortly after detonation, steel, oil, and flesh slip together into the sea. The victim’s distress calls are as a stung tourist crying out in pain and disbelief. Like the jellyfish, the terror that ensues by only one mine is devastating enough that all ships flee at its report.
For the price of a used SUV a third world country can empty a small sea, prevent merchant fleets from using a strait, or close down a major sea-lane. Until of course, EOD arrives.
As EOD Technicians, part of Det Four’s training to tread on land or in the water where others dared not included “pouncer” or CAST operations. Specifically, this is a technique of inserting two men via helicopter to countercharge the mine.
This quickly became Jazz’s favorite of all the EOD mobility skills.
TWENTY-TWO
Jazz and Ashland donned wetsuits in the locker room prepping for Jazz’s third CAST op. His wetsuit was still wet from his first CAST op the previous day.
Jazz called the house in Annapolis the night before just after Melanie arrived with the kids. He described to Melanie, Eleanor, and the Admiral how he and Ashland jumped from the open ramp on the stern of a CH-46 helicopter into the Atlantic Ocean. Jazz was disappointed that nobody was impressed, yet their varied reactions were amusing.
Melanie was nervous about Jazz flying in the helo. Understandably, she thought it might crash. The Admiral was worried about him toting explosives through the water. He asked for a detailed description of their safety precautions. Eleanor wanted to make sure her son was dressing properly.
“Maybe you could wear long underwear, dear. I am sure the water is cold.”
“Mom, I’m 27. I’m a parent,” Jazz said with exasperation. “Not only am I a lieutenant in the world’s greatest Navy, I’m a Special Operations Officer…”
“Lieutenant.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m still your mother and as such I outrank both you and the Admiral. You may be TACON to Melanie but you are still OPCON to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You do as I say and dress warmly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jazz thought of his Dad as he strapped the knife and a flare to his inner calf. Ashland offered some last minute advice.
“Remember, LT, don’t swim at it like a bat outta hell. Make sure you stop and watch it in the seas. In three feet swells these things bob like a motherfucker. If you are not careful on your approach you could set it off. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey, LT.”
“Huh?”
“Get fired up man… EOD baby! It’s a blast!”
Jazz smiled as he put on his UDT vest, then his dive booties. He thought to himself, This is why I joined EOD.
He noticed that his heart was pounding with excitement.
The lieutenant picked up his fins, mask and helmet and followed Ash to TEU TWO’s back lot where Keating was waiting for them. Dressed in a flight suit with a helmet in his hand, he would be their CAST-master for the op.
“You guys ready?” the chief asked.
“Ready! I’m fired up! We gonna do some of that EOD Shit!” screamed Ash.
“Fuckin-A right,” said Keating.
The chief drove them down to the landing zone. Chief Potter was there leaning against a pickup. Jazz could see a box containing the explosives they would use in the bed of the truck. Potter had a backpack with a small radio in it, the handset dangled over his shoulder.
“Obviously, the first group is already out there,” said Keating.
“Yeah, but we just got a call that they are on their way back. You guys will be flying in fifteen minutes,” replied Potter. “They got Dee and Sinclair in the water, then Dee went again with Quinn. Denke said that T-Ball did real well on his U/I CAST-master. Denke said to make sure we remind him that he owes.”
Something garbled came over Potter’s handset. He grabbed it.
“This is LZ, go.”
Jazz heard a static response.
“LZ, roger out.”
Potter dropped the handset again. “Okay, they are five minutes out. Get ready to board the bird.”
Jazz and Ashland donned their helmets and put their masks on over them. Keating grabbed two satchels from the box in the bed of the truck. He handed one each to Jazz and Ash. Jazz opened his to ensure the explosives were in it. Then he strapped it around his waist.
Before he saw it, Jazz heard the thumping of the blades of the CH-46 helicopter. Jazz had seen the –46, called a Sea Knight, throughout his life as a Navy brat growing up on bases around the world. He marveled how the two counter-rotating blades, one on a pylon above the cockpit and the other on the higher tail kept the bird flying.
The three men closed their eyes and tucked their chins to their chests, hiding from sand and grass thrown at them by the helicopter’s downwash. As it settled on the landing zone, Jazz could hear the RPMs decrease. He looked up just as the pilot surrendered to gravity and the aircraft settled, compressing the hydraulics on its landing gear.
The ramp came down from the rear of the -46. An aircrewman stepped out first, then Jazz saw the rest of his team emerge from the below the tail. They were all grinning as they cleared the prop wash. Jazz saw the aircrewman motioning at them. He followed Keating and Ashland through the brush up the ramp and into the helo.
In a moment they were strapped into the two canvas benches lining each side of the helicopter. Jazz sat across from Ash. Keating strapped on a long safety harness connected to the floor of the aircraft. He plugged his helmet into a comms box so he could talk on the intercom with the pilots.