They had a fifteen-minute break to check their weapons and equipment and brief the next portion of the morning exercise. DeLaine, Bolton, and Jefferson were picked up by a UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter and taken out to the next exercise target area, and minutes later two massive MH-53 Pave Low III special-operations helicopters approached their location. The rear cargo ramp lowered, and the loadmaster and crew chief emerged and waved them in. Three dune buggies fit in the cargo hold of each of the big choppers with room to spare. The flight was not very long, and the cargo ramp remained lowered as they dropped to low altitude and sped in toward the landing zone.
The two massive MH-53 Pave Low III special-ops helicopters stirred up an immense cloud of dust as they translated from racing just a few meters above the desert floor at ninety knots to zero airspeed in just a few seconds. Within seconds the high-tech dune buggies drove off the choppers into the dust storm kicked up by the massive rotors. Their objective was about five kilometers in the distance, just outside the reach of simulated “enemy” rocket-propelled grenades or shoulder-fired antiaircraft weapons: a small compound, thirty-six acres in area, with oil derricks, pumps, tanks, and electrical control buildings, built to resemble a small oil-pumping facility. Normally they would deploy and fight at night, but this was their first practice and it gave them an opportunity to take it a little easy until they got the hang of using their new vehicles.
Even with fat tires and wide stances the buggies were top-heavy with the gunner and their weapon situated above the driver, and it made for some exciting moments when the drivers executed all but the gentlest turns. Bouncing across the open desert in the buggies demanded a lot from the gunners. They rested against a metal back brace and wore a harness attached to the weapon stand, but they were still wildly bumped and jostled around while racing at nearly a hundred kilometers an hour. Aiming the weapons while moving at more than thirty kilometers per hour was nearly impossible. But at a slower speed or while stopped, the gunners did an incredible job and showed off their marksmanship skills, hitting practice targets with great precision even from as far as a hundred meters.
Kelsey DeLaine, Carl Bolton, and Sergeant Major Jefferson watched the six buggies approach and then encircle the “facility” through high-powered binoculars. They were inside the “oil terminal,” watching the task force as they started their raid. “I thought Crenshaw was going to lose it for a second there—he took that last turn a little sharp,” Kelsey commented. “But they’re doing great. Twenty-one minutes to surround the compound and hit all the perimeter targets—not bad.”
“I’d sure like to see it done in less than fifteen,” Bolton commented.
“This is their first time out, sir—they’re not pushing those buggies too hard yet,” Jefferson commented. “A few more days and they’ll be moving at top speed.”
“I hope so, Sergeant,” Bolton said. “Otherwise we’ll have to re-think this whole ‘Rat Patrol’ idea.”
“They’ll get better, sir,” Jefferson insisted.
“I still think we can parachute or sneak in some snipers and have them take out any Stinger air defense sites first,” Bolton argued. “Then the choppers can move in closer.”
“It takes time to put snipers in position properly, sir,” Jefferson said. This was an old argument, and he was tired of making it. “Our mission profile calls for a light, rapid-response force. It could take days to move three or four snipers into position.”
“Then what about getting Cobra or Apache attack helicopters to launch precision-guided weapons from outside Stinger range? A Hellfire missile has three times the range of a Stinger…”
“It’s only twice the range, sir, not three times,” Jefferson interjected. “But the main reason is that the support necessary for even one Cobra or Apache helicopter is enormous—we would need our own C-17 transport, maybe two, and probably double our personnel.”
“We were lucky to get two MH-53s and the buggies sent out here,” Kelsey admitted. “If we can get additional funding or get a change in our operational profile, then perhaps we can get some attack choppers.”
“If we changed our profile to include things like helicopters, ma’am, we’re losing the thing that makes us distinctive and gives us an edge—our speed and flexibility,” Jefferson said. “We’d be just another Marine or Army Ranger mixed light infantry–helicopter company.”
“Then I suggest we practice more and get our times down, Sergeant,” Bolton said, “before the White House disbands us in favor of some grunt unit.”
“Yes, sir,” Jefferson responded, making the “sir” sound more like “cur.” Sergeant Major Jefferson was unaccustomed to civilians telling him what to do while training his men, especially civilians that rarely, if ever, picked up a gun or rode in military vehicles.
There was an uncomfortable pause for a few moments; then, Kelsey keyed the mike on her walkie-talkie: “Okay, Sergeant Moore, let’s give the Goose a try.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Staff Sergeant Moore, mounted inside CID Two and positioned near the helicopters’ landing zone, responded. He turned toward the oil compound and issued a command via an eye-pointing system inside his helmet. There was a loud pop! and a projectile, resembling a long bowling pin, fired from the unit’s backpack. When the projectile reached fifteen meters’ altitude, a set of long thin wings popped out of its body, a small jet engine started, and the projectile flew up and away like a tiny jet plane. A few moments later, Moore launched another. The projectile was a GUOS, or Grenade-Launched Unmanned Observation System, nicknamed “Goose,” a remotely operated drone with a tiny camera on board that sent back pictures to a ground observer team or to the CID pilot from as far as forty kilometers away and four kilometers’ altitude.
“Two Geese away, both in the green,” Moore reported. No one responded to him. “They should be on station in five minutes.” Still no reaction. “Ma’am, I think CID could’ve reached that compound and taken out those perimeter targets faster than the buggies.”
“After the task force gets it down in the buggies, maybe we’ll give it a try,” Kelsey said noncommittally, turning to the portable surveillance monitor set up in her Humvee.
“Or maybe not,” Bolton said under his breath.
“Ready to activate random gunfire, ma’am,” Jefferson said.
“Do it,” Kelsey responded. Automated emitters inside the compound would fire laser beams outside, which would be scored as small arms fire with the Multiple Integrated Laser Engagement System. The emitters were just distractions, added to enhance the realism of the exercise.
All of the officers observing the exercise were just simply amazed at the precision and accuracy of the “Rat Patrol” dune buggy gunners. They were indeed getting better by the minute: after just two complete orbits of the perimeter, Sergeant Moore reported, “Ma’am, I see smoke coming from every defensive position. They did it. Every Stinger site and machine gun nest destroyed by TALON.”
“Those guys are incredible,” Kelsey said. “Congratulations, Sergeant Major.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Jefferson responded. “But that was only phase one. These guys work best on the ground.”
The six dune buggies surrounded the oil refinery, and twelve Task Force TALON commandos in pixilated desert camouflage fatigues, Whisper Mike communications headsets, Kevlar helmets, safety goggles, gas masks, and M-16 rifles fitted with the MILES direct fire training system modules dismounted. The six dune buggy drivers moved their vehicles away from the perimeters, then configured the pedestal-mounted weapons on their vehicles to fire remotely from the driver’s seat. The twelve commandos joined up into three groups of four and began to approach the refinery at preselected entry points. Each commando carried an M-16 rifle with a retractable stock to make it more compact, along with pouches of ammo and gas grenades; one commando in each team had an M203 grenade launcher attached under his rifle for additional firepower.
Maxwell was the first to break radio silence: “TALON, One,” he radioed, “look sharp, I just found a booby trap. Claymore mine with a fishing-line trip wire.” Each team leader checked in, acknowledging they heard the warning. Maxwell disarmed the Claymore—a smoke grenade, not a high-explosive mine—and proceeded on. Several more traps were discovered on their way in. The more they found, the sharper their attention became. This was just a first exercise, sure, but at least Kelsey DeLaine and Ray Jefferson were making it interesting right off the bat!
They made it to the perimeter fence without tripping any of the five mines they discovered. The barrier was a simple three-strand electrified enclosure, typical of those used for farm animals. Fearing the fence might be wired to set off an alarm or an explosive if cut, the teams decided to slip under the lower wire—until they spotted the trip wires on the other side, less than a centimeter aboveground, attached to more smoke bombs. “Good setup here, Kelsey,” Maxwell said on his comlink.
