Chapter 1
Cole checked his watch. 0335. For three days the team observed the valley below. There were no signs of activity from the Worldwide Islamic State, also known as WIS. He looked off to his right to see Sergeant Barnes peering through the ultra-high power night vision device, overlooking the valley. Barnes’ green silhouette contrasted with the black backdrop from the personal night vision device mounted to his helmet.
“Christmas,” broke the silence through his headset.
“What’s up?” he asked, after pressing the push to talk button clipped to the gear on his chest.
“I got movement from the south. Three armored personnel carriers. Moving north along the main supply route. About 2,200 meters.”
Finally, something.
“Roger. Is the Javelin ready?”
“Ready to rock n’ roll,” said Sam, the Javelin expert, speaking over the inter team communications.
“Let ’em get within 1500 meters. Hit vehicle one with the first rocket,” Cole said calmly. He could now see the infrared lights of the WIS vehicles creeping along the highway spaced about fifty meters apart.
“1800 meters.”
“1600 meters.”
Pause.
The team took cover behind the natural stone wall in case the armored personnel carriers should decide to fire in their direction. The whoosh and the light from the rocket motor of the Javelin departing the tube temporarily exposed their position. Without looking where the rocket went, Sam immediately went into reloading procedures. The rocket sailed in front of their position. When the secondary propulsion system kicked in, the rocket gave a flash and sailed at a forty five degree angle into the night sky. The rocket went as high as 500 feet, tracking the target through it’s on board infrared imagery. In fire and forget mode, the rocket would be programmed to lock on the target by the operator before being fired. When launched, it was guided to the target using GPS triangulation. The operator could immediately reload the weapon from the safety of cover.
Within about 45 seconds, the faint glint of the HEAT round could be seen penetrating the night sky, headed for the top of the first enemy APC.
Timothy stepped out of his Bentley with the door held open by his lead security agent. He never liked being escorted around by the security entourage, but his friend insisted. His grueling trip to Baghdad fatigued him and he wanted to relax in his home. The purpose of the meeting was to secure the newest member of the New Union. He and the Prime Minister of Turkey played five rounds of golf on the new course along the Tigris River. Timothy made assurances and the Prime Minister agreed to join around hole six during the third round. Iraq, Iran, Jordan, France, Germany, and now Turkey made up an alliance of countries with the mission of free trade and global security. The old European Union crumbled three years earlier when the United States began backing the US dollar with a combination of oil and gold. The alliance of Canada and the United States began using North American oil and broke ties with OPEC. This deal crushed economies in the Middle East and much of the European Union.
“Hello, my love,” he said, as he walked along the path to his house, meeting his wife halfway. They hugged, and Timothy buried his face in her curly black hair. He squeezed her and could smell the faint hint of lavender perfume.
“You look tired,” she said, still hugging him.
As he lifted his face to meet her smile, he said, “I’m okay. I am glad to be home now. Where is Bryson?”
“Oh, he is over at one of his friend’s houses.”
“No time to see his old man I see?”
“Well, he is a teenager. We aren’t cool anymore. He is more interested in video games and whatever else. Besides, you will be home for a while,” she said, as they held hands along the cobblestone walkway.
He turned. “I am done for the day,” he said to his head of security. The man in the business suit, gave a nod and the team departed.
They entered the front door. “They keep pressuring me to move you guys to Baghdad.”
“I’m not gonna let it happen, Timothy. You know I have my family here in Alabama. And you hate it in Baghdad. Besides, aren’t you kind of the US envoy?”
“I am, but you know how these hardliners are. All traditional. Want the women covered. All Muslims living in the Middle East. It’s kind of stupid. If we want to spread our faith, we should be all over the world.”
“I agree,” she said as they sat on the leather sofa. The Huntsville Times sat on the coffee table.
The front headline read “Turkey Joins the New Union.” His attention was drawn to the front page headline.
“You did this, didn’t you?” she asked.
“I can’t take credit for this. Allah puts us in contact with those who will help spread his word.”
“He is great.”
“Yes, he is.”
The US Consulate in Kirkuk held a makeshift tactical operations center in the basement. Today, the usually quiet TOC was buzzing with activity. This was the first action against the Worldwide Islamic State in years. The criteria for deadly force against WIS included vehicles entering the twenty five mile buffer zone on either side of the border. If this area was violated, deadly force was authorized.
The three armored personnel carriers destroyed by Staff Sergeant Cole Christmas’ reconnaissance team were well inside the buffer zone. By all appearances, the armored vehicles were probing force looking for gaps in surveillance.
But why? Cole asked himself this question one hundred times since he initiated the attack.
“Attention on deck,” said the Marine on duty, posted next to the door of the tactical operations center.
All the Marines and Sailors around the briefing table stood while Colonel Mark Fox entered.
“Please, everyone sit. Let’s get right to it. CENTCOM needs a full briefing from me in an hour. Staff Sergeant Christmas, what do you have?”
Cole stood, and began laying out surveillance photos of before and after the attack. Each photo had a time and location stamp in the upper right hand corner. Some were greenish, those taken through night observation devices, and others white and black, those taken with thermal devices. Cole just realized how bad he smelled from the three day patrol. Time for a shower.
“Well, sir, it’s obvious this was a small mobile reconnaissance force checking the surveillance along the border. They were well inside the buffer zone, in armored and armed vehicles, as you can see,” he pointed to the 20mm guns on top of each vehicle, “driving in blacked out conditions. There is no doubt these guys would have killed us if we were spotted first.”
“You were justified in your actions, son. The President was adamant in holding the Islamism to the agreement established eight years ago. Only now, we started enforcing the border. The previous administration tied our hands and allowed WIS to run roughshod over the Kurds. The big question is why were they there?”
The commander of the reconnaissance platoon, Captain Zules, stood, “Sir, the Kurds reported the same type of vehicles just outside the buffer zone a few nights ago. I think WIS is planning some sort of infiltration. Or, this could be a head fake of sorts, to take our eye off another area of the border.”
“We need more eyes in the sky. Double our drone and manned aircraft surveillance. Get some help from the USS Nassau off the southern coast. They have drones and Harriers. They can help us out.”
The colonel spun in his chair to look at a huge map of Iraq on the wall behind him. The room was deathly quiet while he stared at the map for roughly a minute.
“Captain Zules,” he said, without turning around. “I want eyes on Baghdad. How many recon teams can you get around the capital? This has to be a real sneaky pete operation. No vehicles. Get ’em in as quickly and as quietly as you can.”
His cell phone buzzed on the night stand. He peeked open one eye and read the caller’s name, BOSS. He answered.
“Good morning,” he said while standing and making his way to the kitchen. He looked at the clock on the oven 0445.
“Okay, mmm...sure,” he said with the phone in the crook of his neck as he prepared coffee.
“And when were the vehicles destroyed? I see,” a long pause, “I will get him on the phone today and see what I can arrange. I understand...I’ll call you as soon as I get something.”
0445. I just got home yesterday. Timothy leaned against the counter waiting for the coffee to brew. He could smell the sweet aroma.
The destroyed APCs along the border of Kurdistan created a stir internationally. Yes, his college buddy, and now leader of the New Union, ordered probes of the area. This was to check surveillance and also to check the guts of the United States President. But he didn’t want to reveal the truth about the relationship between the New Union and WIS.
I suppose the old man does have it in him.
The previous administration allowed the Worldwide Islamic State to meet most of its goals: establish a new Caliphate, create a headquarters in Baghdad, and secretly undermine everything Western. This was done all out of political correctness, or as it appeared to Timothy, stupidity from the previous President. Timothy was picked by his college friend because he possessed technical and political expertise. He wasn’t the second in charge on paper. A real Vice President held that seat. He was, however, the college friend and closest confidant to the leader of the New Union. He was white, raised in the United States, and as charismatic as any top CEO. The former POTUS invited him to golf games and personal dinners, and his children to the movies. The current President wasn’t quite as cozy. But he was now an informal adviser to the United States in all things Islam and Middle East. Sure, the President questioned his affiliation with the New Union, but Timothy always brushed this off as just a friendship.
“It’s the solution to the crisis in the Middle East and Europe,” he had written in a book about how to solve the tensions in the region, describing the economic solution to the global financial crisis. Both Presidents, former and current, were enamored with the young man’s ability to assimilate information about the Middle East. The President bought the pitch a little over three years ago. But every time an attack occurred against coalition forces, or there was a breech in the peace treaty, his pitch began to crumble. Of course, Timothy always kept radical Islam separate from the New Union. Always blame the crazies.
He poured himself a cup of coffee then dialed the White House switchboard.
A few rings, “White House security. How can I help you?”
“Yes, good morning, the President’s secretary please.”
“And who should I say is calling?” said the voice on the other end.
“Timothy Bright.” A long pause, and the groggy voice of Madeline Sellers came on the other end.
“Good morning, Timothy. How is my favorite Bamer fan this morning?”
“I’m great, and I hope you are. Listen, I have to be direct for the sake of brevity. I have some information on a situation in Israel. Do you think the President would lend me his ear?”
“I will put it on the list, Tim. You know how this goes. Call back around noon Eastern, and I will tell you if he has time to talk. Okay?”
“Sure, tell him this is urgent. I have some information he really needs to look at. I think I have a solution for the Israeli/Palestinian conflict.”
“I will, Tim. Tell your wife I said hello.”
“Thank you, Madeline, I will, and I will talk to you at noon.”
He ended the call. Took a sip of coffee. He knew there was a chance the President would not talk to him with all the world’s problems going on. But ever since he gave the President information on where and when to kill Hassan, he had his ear. The White House liked Timothy for his contacts and ability to solve issues in the Middle East.
