Retired Air Force colonel Paul White, operations commander of the top-secret U.S. Intelligence Support Agency team code-named Madcap Magician, nodded reluctantly. Both he and the tall commando had noticed the looks from the men, but did not mention it. “You kicked ass, all right, Hal,” he replied.
And he was right, they had. In an unprecedented act of regional military cooperation, the Intelligence Support Agency, a cover-action organization of the CIA, had just teamed up with the seven Arab member nations of the Gulf Cooperation Council’s military arm, called Peninsula Shield, to attack a disputed Iranian military position in the Persian Gulf. It was the first time in White’s memory that the CIA had actively supported an Arab military mission, albeit secretly. Sure, these guys were happy—their mission had gone off without a hitch, a potential enemy had been crippled, and the good-will they had built by joining with their Arab friends might last for many years.
White’s team had been the spearhead of the attack. Most Arab countries had little or no air-combat experience, especially at night. White’s job had been to guide the Arab pilots and gunners to their targets accurately enough so that key targets could be destroyed quickly and efficiently, with minimum loss of life on either side. It had been important for Peninsula Shield to score a major victory in its first military mission, especially against one of the very nations that it and the Gulf Cooperation Council had been formed to defend against—the Islamic Republic of Iran.
Of course, White’s other mission had been to see to the safe return of his commandos and the security of his vessel.
“Ten divers out, ten divers back, and this rust bucket is still afloat,” Chris Wohl, the tall man, said in a low, slow Voice. “That’s a success.”
“Damn straight!” Hal Briggs crowed. “So let’s celebrate! Let’s-“
Just then, another of the commandos walked up to the three Americans. Briggs stopped abruptly, and his face went limp and dazed, as if he had just been shot full of painkillers. The commando was much shorter than Briggs, but was just as wiry and powerful—and she filled out a Mustang suit much better than he.
Her name was Riza Behrouzi, and she was the commander of the Peninsula Shield security team. A Peninsula Shield commando had gone along with every Madcap Magician commando to assist and to secure the area while the targets were lazed. “All Peninsula Shield operatives present and well,” Behrouzi reported. “On behalf of the nations of the Gulf Cooperative Council, I wish to thank you all for your help.”
White was about to accept her thanks, but Briggs interjected: “It was our pleasure, Major Behrouzi …”
“Riza, please,” Behrouzi said to Briggs. Wohl and White got the impression they had instantly been forgotten. “I know it is against your rules to give us your real names, but I have no such restrictions—about names, or about this.” She stepped closer to Briggs and gave him a full kiss on the lips. “Thank you.”
“it was nothing … Riza,” Briggs said, apparently having difficulty catching his breath.
“Okay, Leopard,” Wohl said irritably. “You want to celebrate, go ahead—after you clean and stow your gear, conduct the post-mission briefing, see to it that your men are fed, and prepare your reports for the National Security Agency and the Director of Central Intelligence. And I believe you have the morning watch, so you better get some sleep. And since you’re within eight hours of your watch, You’re off the sauce. Other than that, you can celebrate all you want.”
“Gee, Mondo, thanks,” Briggs said dejectedly. “You’re a real party animal.”
“I would be happy to assist you, Leopard,” Behrouzi said. “We shall conduct the briefing and see to our men together.”
“I like the sound of that,” Briggs said, instantly perking up. “I tell ya, Riza,” he said as they headed out, “I had that Iranian carrier in my sights for a sec out there. It might’ve taken the entire UAE air force full of Hellfires, but I would loved to see that big bad boy roll over and die.” He may have just returned from two hours of scuba diving and six hours of crawling on his belly, but he sounded as hyper is before the day started.
“Leave it to Briggs,” Wohl said. “Ten thousand miles from home, in the middle of the Persian Gulf, and he still manages to find the pretty girls.” Catching no response, he looked at White.
“Everything OK, sir?”
“Yeah, fine,” White replied noncommittally. “Ah … Briggs didn’t really laze that Iranian carrier, did he?”
“No. He’s cocky and a smart-ass, but he’s a good troop,” Wohl said. “He’s not stupid enough to ignore orders, no matter how easy the target of opportunity might be. The carrier’s safe. It launched a few choppers, but none of its fighters and no missiles.
Intel was right—the fighters and weapon systems aren’t operational on that thing yet. Still can’t believe Iran has got an aircraft carrier. We’re gonna hear from that thing one of these days, I know it.”
“The guys don’t exactly seem enthusiastic about Hal,” White observed. “In fact, they’re pretty much ignoring him”
“It’s tough for a team that’s been together for so long to accept a brand-new commanding officer right away,” Wohl said. “This is Briggs’s first mission with the team-“
“Second—you’re forgetting the Luger rescue mission in Lithuania …”
“On which Briggs just happened to be one of the passengers, along with McLanahan and Ormack,” Wohl said. “it turned out that Briggs was better prepared, very close to our standards. But he wasn’t one of us, and he sure as hell wasn’t our leader …”
“But he is now.”
Wohl stopped and glared at White, then shrugged. “Hey, I was never the real commander of the ops group of Madcap Magician,” he said. “You asked me to be reassigned to you because you needed a commanding officer, and I accepted because I was tired of pushing papers at Parris Island. It was only a temporary billet-“
“That lasted three years,” White said. “The men bonded to you right away. You brought them together like no one else could.”
“Because I knew all these guys—I trained them all, even Briggs,” Wohl said. “We’re all Marines first—except Briggs, of course—then ISA operatives …”
“So Briggs being ex-Army and ex-Air Force, he’s not going to fit in…?”
“Depends on him,” Wohl replied. “He’s got a much different style than me—emotional, energetic, touchy-feely. Briggs rewards guys for good performance and ‘counsels’ them when it’s poor—I expect good performance and loudly kick ass if I get anything but. And he’s an officer, too, a young field-grade officer at that—younger than some of the guys on the team—and after all the years I’ve spent bad-mouthing officers in general and field-grade officers in particular, he’s got a tough road ahead.
“He’s a good troop, but a good commanding officer …? Too early to tell. The guys aren’t sure how to respond to him yet, that’s all. Whether he succeeds is totally up to him. They’re the best—whether or not he can lead them is the question only he can answer.”
White nodded absently. Wohl studied him for a moment, then asked, “If everything’s so OK, Colonel, why the hangdog look?”
“Because I’ve had some reservations about this operation from the start,” White said. “We just kicked over a big hornet’s nest out there tonight, Chris—and we did it on Iran’s Revolution Day, their Fourth of July.”
“Shit, I didn’t know that,” Wohl said. “I thought it was in November sometime, when they took over the embassy in ‘79.”
“No, it’s today—and I should’ve known that. I never would’ve recommended executing this mission on that date,” White said.