Fueling the Rage Read online

  Bill and the Sergeant returned. The Major ordered, “Escort him to the VIP quarters and stand by in case he needs anything. Wake him at 0630 hours, feed him, and have him in this room at 0800 hours.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  The General joined the Major, “Even if he does not fit the program he’ll make a fine Seal.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  For the entire morning, he took their tests. The consultants were correct; they were drawing from too small a sample pool. As Bill took one test, they evaluated his prior test.

  The General asked the Major, “The question is, can he complete both officer and Seal training in six months? That’s what the Secretary of Defense needs to know.”

  “The FBI started running security on him last night and so far he has no bad marks.”

  “Major, call his mother and get what she thinks is his down time. Assign a doctor to him for a few days. Set his rank, and combine officer training with the Seal training. Then we should be able to hold it to a total of six months.”

  “I can get him to the rifle range this afternoon, should be low impact.” The Major left to phone Bill’s mother.

  Bill completed the tests and discussions went on for the rest of the day. They drew a conclusion and the Major again met with Bill.

  “Based upon certain skill sets that we’ll need for some special projects, we can make you the following offer. You will be made a Lieutenant in the US Navy, and receive one on one officer training until you can begin Seal instruction at a proper physical standard. After completing Seal training, you will return to Mac Dill. At that time, you will receive further orders. Any questions Lieutenant?”

  “No Sir. I will do my best.”

  “You’ll be at Mac Dill until you can run again, and then transferred to San Diego, California for Seal training. Your orders will be ready this evening. In ten minutes, you have an Air Force uniform fitting, and your Navy rank in the Air Force is equal to Captain. Captain, we can go back to the rifle range. For a few days, we will spend our time on small arms. One more thing, no tattoos, not even when you make Seal. Sometime in the future, your life may depend on it.”

  *****

  Three weeks later, Lt. Bill Crane completed his officer training. The Major met with his parents and went over what they needed to know. Together they packed his clothes and gave them to a driver. A military jet flew Bill nonstop to the Naval Air Station in San Diego and as instructed, he was wearing civilian clothes. A Navy truck met him at the plane. The driver loaded Bill’s possessions into the bed of the truck, and delivered him to a one story wooden building that was marked “SEAL TRAINING CENTER.” The driver unloaded his gear, carried two suitcases, and followed Bill up the wooden stairs. They entered a small office where an older Chief was sitting at a desk.

  “Chief, I’m Lieutenant Crane reporting for duty.”

  “Welcome to Seal training, Sir.” He pushed a button on a desk phone and announced, “The Lieutenant is here to see you, Sir.”

  The voice from the box said, “Show him in.” The Chief walked to a door and opened it.

  Bill was in civilian clothes, did not salute, but stood at attention. He scanned the office, and directly in front of him was a Navy Captain sitting behind a large wooden desk. The Captain looked like a Seal, and was about Bill’s size with short black and gray hair and he was wearing loose fitting fatigues with no insignias or rank. On his desk was a sign that said, Captain Greer. The walls were a clean dull white and nothing was hanging on them. In front of the desk there were two leather chairs facing each other with a small glass table between them. Against a wall was a long blue leather couch. He stood and walked to one of the leather chairs and motioned for Bill to sit. In his hand was a service file. The Captain pointed to the couch.

  “Sit, I am the only person outside of Mac Dill that knows who you really are. During training, your military status is top-secret. We need to talk about your life for the next five months.”

  He dialed the General at Mac Dill and put his cell phone on speaker.

  “Hello.”

  “Greer here, Sir. I’m with Crane and we’re on speaker.”

  “Do you recognize my voice Lieutenant? Ask me a question.”

  “Who took me to dinner the first night?”

  “McCurdy did, feel free to talk with Greer. You’re in good hands and I’ll see you after you complete your training.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  The Captain started by asking him why he wanted to be a Seal. Bill told him about his grandfather, his sister, Mo, and Ike. He even told him of the plans, he had made while he was unconscious and that he wanted to get even. Then he said what he had never been able to say aloud.

  “I want to kill everyone that had any part of the bombing and I mean everyone. Not as a murderer, but on the right side of things.”

  “When we’re alone you can call me Sam, and no Sir is needed. I’m going to make your wishes come true.”

  “Okay Sam.”

  “You’ve a new paper work name. It’s Robert Krane.” It started there and the two of them talked for two hours. The Seal course was without grade or rank and they expected him to be in the back of the pack for the next month until he got his strength back.

  “I’m not able to keep up with the Seal training any more, but I have other skills,” Sam said.

  Sam could kill the enemy with the best of them. “When training’s over, we’ll have a final exam in a godless hellhole called Dhuudo, Somalia.”

  Bill was now Bob to the other Seals and it took a few days for him to answer to his new name. The Seal training was hard, but he never gave up. During the first week of running, different men would drop back and cheer him on. They knew he needed pain pills to get out of his cot in the morning, and watched a medic bring him medication and help him put his feet on the floor. In a short time, he improved and the pain started to abate within a week. In three weeks, he had nearly recovered, and at six weeks, he was in the best shape of his life. At ten weeks, towards the end of a grueling fifteen-mile run, he had to slow down to avoid passing the leader.

  At ten weeks, Bill separated from the other Seals for two hours per day. During this period, a trainer that was slightly taller than Bill and two assistants, worked with him on his special combat skills. Those skills included “checkmate instruction.” The training is based upon your opponent being in a certain and exact position. Seconds later, a given series of moves ended in “checkmate”, the death of his opponent. He memorized twelve starting positions. His responding moves were by the numbers and repeated hundreds of times. When perfected, it was all automatic muscular reactions and he could complete the moves without thinking. These moves took speed and strength, and from these twelve positions, he was deadly. The two assistants were opponents in his training, and they complained that his grip was too strong. They made Bill wear thick cotton gloves to help reduce their pain.

  During the two added hours, he also received additional pistol and rifle training. He was a very good shot with an M16, and he was without rival with a pistol. He trained with several pistols, but he favored the mid-size Glock 23. It fired 40 caliber rounds, held thirteen rounds in its clip, and one in the chamber. At ten meters, he could fire at a paper target fourteen times in six seconds, and there would be one hole about a half inch in diameter. After five months, he could run, swim, fight, and shoot with the best of them.

  A good dinner followed a very long day of training, and he hit his bunk at 2100 hours. Two hours later, the Chief came into the barracks beating a garbage can lid with a baseball bat, and turned on the lights. “Form up outside in your light basic uniform.” He repeated his order in detail. “Ten minutes. Weapon, a baseball cap, tee shirt, swimsuit, running shoes, and wear your fifty-pound water packs.”

  Ten minutes later, the Seals stood in formation, and at attention. Four Navy busses arrived. The Chief barked another order, “Board the busses.”

  Bill soon knew where they were heading, and told the Seal i
n the seat next to him. “We are going to Harbor Island Beach.”

  They arrived at Harbor Island, and the Chief again gave orders, “Form up eight by ten. You know the drill. Follow my boat. You will group swim to North Island. It will be five miles to the beach. Keep the formation tight. When you feel the bottom, use your snorkel, stay low, wet and in order.”

  Bill was in the third row. He wore a shoulder harness and adjusted a line so that his water pack floated behind his feet. He practiced the formation many times and he stayed at the set distance behind the Seal in front of him. They completed the swim to North Island, and Bill, staying in formation, pulled his pack to his right side and removed his snorkel. The top of his pack floated just at the surface of the water. Bill’s right hand held the left foot of the Seal in front of him to his right, and his left hand held the right foot of the Seal in front of him to his left. Seals behind him held his feet, and breathing through snorkels, they formed a tight web just below the surface of the water.

  The Chief held them in their water formation for one hour. The night hid the eighty Seals, until the Chief flashed a red light three times. On the third flash, the first row of Seals each kicked their right foot. The second row signaled the following row, and so on. As each Seal felt the signal, he pulled his M16 from his pack, and counted off a certain number of seconds. On mass, the eighty men stood, with weapons, and marched from the water.

  The Chief exchanged his boat for a four wheel ATV, and led his Seals on a twenty-five mile forced march down the sandy coast of California. Five hours later, they arrived at an especially beautiful beach, and Seal training was over. Captain Greer was standing beside a long table filled with food and beverages. They ate, drank, and settled down around the Captain.

  The Captain addressed them, “I know it’s been fun,” and they all groaned. “I don’t like long speeches, but this is not the end of your training. You still have a lot to learn. You have done your job. You are America’s best fighting team. We will not waste your training. Tomorrow morning you will start preparing for your first assignment as a Seal. This mission is real and a small mistake can kill you or your fellow Seal. Your first few missions are the most dangerous, and then you will start to get deserved confidence. Remember, all Seals that leave on a mission come home, dead or alive. Chief, you can now form them up.”

  The Chief called them to attention, and he and the Captain shook hands with each new Seal and pinned a badge on their tee shirt. When they were finished, the Captain nodded to the Chief who said, “You’re dismissed to the busses.”

  Fighting through the brutal training

  Self-induced pain and strife

  Feel the thoughts of weakness fading

  Change the course of a young man’s life

  Chapter 3

  The attack of the terrorist on September 11, 2001, led America into two overt wars. The following years, our losses were outside our borders, but the Tampa mall bombing was different. Most Americans knew that the New York attack was not preventable. The American people had faith in their government to protect their families from future attacks. As time passed and there were no more successful attacks on the American mainland, people felt safer. The President knew the tools that he used to keep America safe were inadequate and maybe an illusion. The FBI, CIA, NSA, and myriad other agencies did not predict the Tampa Mall attack.

  The President recognized that another event like 9-11 was going to occur, and decided a year earlier that he could do two things. First, he would develop very small teams, that on short notice could go anywhere on earth. He wanted them to be able to blend in with radical foreign populations, and anticipate their actions. After almost a year, the only candidate that had met the long list of requirements was Bill Crane. Second, the President would retaliate, and that option was about to be set in motion. He anticipated that our enemies would under estimate America’s response.

  President Watson was seventy-two years old. His wife of fifty-two years died six months before the Tampa Mall bombing. Secretary of Defense Cleveland and Director of the CIA Freeman were two of his oldest friends. For the three of them, political game playing was over. The President was the last of the three to come to that realization. Without his wife, his ambition was gone. The President agreed with his two closest advisors that his two remaining years in office would be easy, because all he would do was the right thing.

  The forty-eight years old, Vice President was ambitious. The conflict between the VP and the President came to a head following the Tampa Mall bombing. Their conflict caused the President to reduce the duties of VP Anderson. In a private meeting a week after the bombing, they had an intense argument. The President told him, “For the rest of my term your only job will be to wait for my death.”

  The VP’s time was now his own, and he used it to plan his future. He talked to his chief of staff, Terry Hill. “The president is a lame duck. We need to wrap up my nomination. I believed that his strong support of escalation is a political blunder. Take a week, I want you to work with the staff, and come up with a few plans that will sell peace and safety. Do not make us look weak, but make Watson’s plans look dangerous. It will be ugly if anyone leaks a word before I allow it.”

  Terry was a certified marketing genius and replied, “You can count on me.”

  The VP continued, “The President is giving a call to arms speech this evening. Terry, we need a short statement to cool people down. I need to make them think twice. I want them to know that I can give them peace and safety.”

  President Watson announced an Oval Office speech. He would deliver his public stance on retaliation for the Tampa Mall bombing. His Press Secretary gave notice to the press pool to prepare for a new doctrine. The prime time speech was only eight minutes long. The President calmly recapped the events of the bombing, and presented Mo and Ike’s time line. During minute’s five to eight of his speech, the television screen split, and every two seconds a photograph of a victim flashed next to the president’s face. “We were unable to obtain a picture of all of the victims.” He raised a leather notebook. “This contains copies of the obituaries published in the newspapers of the Tampa Bay.” The photographs of the victims flash faster and faster, and the camera pulled into a tight shot of Watson’s face. “We will cross any border to apprehend or kill anyone behind this attack.” The meeting ended with the applause of his staff and the camera operators.

  VP Anderson prepared and issued a statement to the press after the speech. “I believe we need to determine the reason for the attack. Why did they do this? What do they want? Instead of spending our wealth on war, let us spend some of it to solve their problems.”

  A reporter asked, “Will you resign?”

  “No, I just want to be on the record that I am against another war. Mr. Watson is our President, and from this point forward, I will fulfill my constitutional duty and support him. I will make no further public statements against the coming conflict.” The reporters screamed more questions, but VP Anderson turned and walked into the Senate office building.

  Following his cabinet meeting, the President convened a private meeting with the SOD and the DCIA. SOD Cleveland was the first to speak. “Mr. President, Anderson has hurt us. His argument against actions is the cost of another war front. In fact on a cost and man power basis, he has a point.”

  DCIA Freeman followed, “We will determine the source of this bombing. Give the agency time to do our job. I will report back to you and Cleveland.”

  The President answered, “Cleveland, I want a plan from you while Freeman is working on the report. If we cannot have a public war, we will have a private war. Use the small team people to track down and kill these terrorists. Some way I want the people that directed the attack to know in advance of our next plan. Anyone near the source of an attack is likely going to die. It will be harsh action. I know that many Americans could be against these tactics. If the country turns on me, I am ready to take the fall. However, I want your plan to include keepi
ng all the details of our retaliation top-secret. Find a way to refocus the blame onto our enemies. If I am asked, this President will simply claim that I have no idea of the responsible party.” With his statement, the meeting ended and the President left.

  The SOD asked the DCIA, “Can you talk for a few minutes?”

  “Of course I can.”

  The SOD continued, “For the last year, I have been working to create the Presidents ‘Small Group Warfare Project’. I have even used some of your CIA resources. I do not want to inform the President until our first retaliation attack is completed. I now know who the targets are and where they live. We are almost finished training our retaliatory force. I alone will fall on the sword if this action ends in failure. Cleveland, you and the President are very clean, and I want you to stay that way.”

  *****

  The FBI agent briefed eighty new Seals, the Chief, and the Captain on the evidence to assign blame for the Tampa Mall bombing. “The terrorist bombers were named Mohammad and Ishak Ahmed, and were twin brothers. Their father Ishak Ahmed is a warlord of a tribe called Majerteen. He, his eight wives, and sixteen children live outside of Dhuudo, Somalia, Africa. Including his extended family, his village holds about five hundred natives. Eighteen years ago, he gave or sold his twins, Mohammad and Ishak, to Mullah Ovahy Ahmed. He may be a relative of the warlord. Both of these people are still alive.”

  The FBI agent took a sip of water and continued, “Mullah Ovahy Ahmed is the Dhuudo mosque’s head cleric, and specializes in the interpretation of Islamic religious law. He runs the mosque and the school that teaches little boys how to blow themselves up.” The CIA agent used a pointer, and explained detailed photos of Dhuudo, Somalia. “Ishak Ahmed and his Majerteen tribe live in seventy five mud huts with thatched roofs. Infrared photos reveal there is no activity or guards after midnight.”