Rolling Thunder (2007) s-4 Read online

  Randy glanced past him to the vehicles inside. I'd be proud to have my very own personal DPV for me alone.

  Cruiser sputtered, Jesus Christ!

  It will be done, Randy, Wild Bill Brannigan proclaimed.

  Randy immediately leaped back aboard his Vespa and roared out of the hangar. Brannigan and Cruiser returned to the vehicles to resume the maintenance work.

  .

  1600 HOURS

  THE SEALs were cleaning the windshields of the DPVs and wiping down the chassis in the final phases of the PM session. The hours of crawling in and out of the little vehicles had given them all an intimate knowledge of the inner workings. Brannigan noted that the work done that day was beneficial beyond the mechanical aspects. The men had begun developing real affection for the vehicles they would be driving in Operation Rolling Thunder. They were now referring to them in feminine terms, and the names Ol' Bessie, Sweet Lil, and others like them could be heard during conversations among the crews.

  The squealing of loud tires and a rumbling engine sound interrupted the activity. The detachment looked up to see Randy Tooley on his faithful motor scooter leading an M-35 fuel tanker across the aircraft parking area. They drove straight into the hangar before coming to a halt. Randy got off his Vespa and gestured to Brannigan. Wheel them DPVs up here. They'll top you off. We got twenty-five gallons of motor oil and enough coolant so's you'll have some left over. We got some lube too, and they're lending you a couple of grease guns.

  SCPO Buford Dawkins jumped into the breech as always. Let's go! We'll load on one at a time. Devereaux! Push Command One up to the tanker.

  Jim Cruiser, chuckling, walked over to join Brannigan. That Randy is one hell of a kid, isn't he?

  Roger that, Brannigan said. That's what I mean about the real meaning of discipline. He sees a situation that needs fixing and he sets about putting things right.

  Do you think we could talk him into joining the SEALs? Cruiser asked.

  Do you think he could make it through BUD/S?

  Not a chance, Cruiser commented.

  Randy's right where God meant him to be, Brannigan said. He turned and motioned Frank Gomez to come over to him. Gomez left Command Three, where he and Doc Bradley had been working all day. What's going on, sir?

  Fire up that Shadowfire radio, Gomez, Brannigan said. Tell 'em we need another DPV ASAP.

  Aye, sir. I suppose having a spare would be a good idea.

  This one isn't for us, Brannigan said, gazing at Randy Tooley sitting on his motor scooter.

  Chapter 5

  OPERATIONAL AREA

  8 APRIL

  1100 HOURS

  EIGHT of the Brigands' DPVs moved in a slightly lopsided vee formation across the desert expanse, kicking up clouds of fine dust. This man-made irritation was dealt with by the use of goggles and head scarves wrapped around noses and mouths.

  The ninth vehicle, Commando Two with Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz AKA the Odd Couple was out to the front a couple of kilometers ahead of the pack. As usual, the two buddies were doing recon chores as the detachment continued on a northerly course toward its destination for the day. Mike performed the driving chores, while Dave sat up in the gunner's position keeping an eye on the surrounding terrain through his binoculars. Their AN/PRC-126 radios with the LASH headsets were on frequency and warmed up for intra-detachment commo.

  Earlier, Brannigan had called a halt an hour after they left Shelor Field, and had everyone stand down for familiarization firing with the HK-416 carbines. The evening before had been spent learning field-stripping and how the weapons functioned. This class was given by Bruno Puglisi in his role as the detachment's main weapons man. He had attended both the light and heavy infantry weapons courses conducted under the Army's USASFC at Fort Bragg, North Carolina.

  While out on the desert that next morning, each SEAL shot up a couple of thirty-round magazines, pumping out short fire bursts and individual shots into the distance. The weapons seemed to operate well enough, but there were no suitable targets to test the accuracy. The ever-grumpy Puglisi summed up everyone's thoughts when he remarked, I'm glad this ain't a real hot mission. Them rounds could have been going anywhere. He shrugged. But at least they seem to head out in the general direction we're aiming.

  Well, Miskoski replied, if them HK-Four-Sixteens don't measure up, we'll just have to throw rocks.

  Chad Murchison laughed at the remark. How pristine, Joe! It would be much more propitious if we employed bows and arrows.

  Jesus, Chad! Miskoski groaned. Your sense of humor is as fucked up as the way you talk.

  After the small arms were taken care of, attention was turned to the big M-2 .50-calibers on the vehicles. Everyone enjoyed firing the powerful weapons, whooping and hollering, until SCPO Dawkins came unglued at the frivolity. He took the fun out of the game by having them practice coordinating their fire bursts to cover a hundred-meter range to their direct front as they swung the muzzles back and forth across the width of their overlapping fields of fire. This went on for a half hour until Brannigan decided it was time to resume the patrol. The detachment quickly secured from firing, restacking the ammo boxes onto the vehicles.

  .

  USS COMBS

  SPECOPS CENTER

  NOON

  LIEUTENANT Commander Ernest Berringer stepped from the passageway into the crowded compartment of working people, desks, and computers. He made his way back to the corner, where a small space had been allotted him and Commander Carey. Carey was at their one desk preparing a map of the SEALs' OA to mount on the bulkhead. He raised his eyes as Berringer walked up. I hope you picked up some positive info down in commo.

  Berringer, who had four typed message sheets in his hands, dropped the first one down on the desk. Carey picked the missive up and read it. What the hell is this all about? Why in hell would Brannigan request an additional DPV from Station Bravo? He laughed. Well, he sure isn't going to get it.

  Berringer dropped the second sheet down. As stated here, sir, his audacious request was approved.

  Good God Almighty! Carey exclaimed.

  Now Berringer produced the third sheet. And it's already on its way to Shelor Field via the next scheduled C-One-Thirty.

  Brannigan never ceases to amaze me. Well! All I can say is that there must not be much of a demand on the inventory. In fact, there must not be any demand at all if they shipped one out so quickly.

  And here's the last and the wordiest. Now get ready for this, Berringer warned him, handing over the fourth message.

  Carey, his curiosity boiling, began reading the words. He spoke as much to himself as to Berringer as he made a running commentary. He's launched active patrolling...left Shelor this morning at oh-five-hundred...vehicles topped off with fuel and carrying two additional five-gallon jerry cans as contingencies...fuel did not come through normal supply channels... special arrangements At this point Carey stopped speaking.

  What sort of special arrangements could he have made, sir? Berringer asked.

  Oh, God, Carey moaned, I don't even want to know!

  .

  OPERATIONAL AREA

  1400 HOURS

  PETTY Officer Third Class Chad Murchison sat in the gunner's seat of Green Two, the wind blowing hard, making the scarf over his lower face flutter rapidly. The DPV bounced across the desert at a bit less than fifty miles an hour, with Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson deftly handling the wheel as he carefully steered to avoid rough patches of terrain.

  Chad would have preferred the empty passenger seat on the right side of the vehicle, but he sat at the M-2 .50-caliber machine gun as per Lieutenant Bill Brannigan's SOP. The Skipper wanted the heavy weapons locked, loaded, and manned during transit at all times.

  Without exception. Always. Unremittingly. Constantly. Wild Bill had thus spoken, and he was therefore obeyed.

  At that particular moment in time, the young SEAL was going through mixed emotions. Their final destination for that day was the UNREO camp. His girl
friend Penny Brubaker was there in her role as an instructor in basic hygiene and sanitation. He hadn't seen her for over a year, and he was not looking forward to this meeting. The thing that was so perplexing for Chad was that he didn't fully understand this hesitancy on his part.

  FOR almost his entire life, Chad Murchison had adored Penny Brubaker, who was a year younger than he. Both their families were members of the higher echelons of the Boston financial and banking community, and they had shared the experience of being raised in stunning wealth and privilege among friends and classmates who were their social peers. All the kids went to the best private elementary schools the city offered, then to the prestigious Marchland Preparatory School in New Hampshire. Chad and Jenny began going steady at Marchland and everyone including the young couple assumed they would eventually be engaged, then married, and begin procreating to carry on the dynasties of their powerful families. But during her senior year, after Chad had graduated and gone off to Yale, Penny unexpectedly dumped him for a jock. This betrayal caused Chad's world to come apart at the seams.

  His grief at losing Penny was so great and pressing, it was nearly unreal. He lay in his dormitory room at Yale unable to get up to go to class, eat, or sleep. Dehydration and exhaustion set in during his mental and physical deterioration until he was looking so bad that the dormitory superintendent was notified by Chad's frantic friends. An ambulance was called immediately and the boy was taken to the nearest ER. Youthful resilience was on his side, and the medical crew determined he could be brought back to physical normalcy if he were immediately admitted to the hospital to get fluids dripped into him. The treatment would include regular doses of Valium to mellow him out.

  A week later, he was back in his home in Boston. The family physician recommended that he stay out of school for the rest of the year. If he regained his ability to deal with the real world by the following September, he could reenter Yale and resume his studies. From that point on, Chadwick Murchi-son's existence consisted of sitting around and moping while barely eating. His days were spent at his bedroom window, sprawled in a recliner and staring out over the broad expanse of the back lawn that flowed down to Lake Saint Michael.

  This lethargic style of a miserable existence went on for a bit more than a month before a spark suddenly ignited deep in his psyche. It wasn't a flash of intellect or realization; it was a burst of bald, naked anger. Chad may have been a little skinny guy with two left feet, but one thing he had inside was an instinctive courage and fighting spirit. It took this emotional disaster to fuel that inner self that had been smothered by the good life. It was nine o'clock in the morning when he impetuously got out of the chair and marched down to the kitchen, where the staff was going about their usual routine. Chad announced he wanted three eggs over easy, a half-dozen sausage links, a big pile of fried potatoes, and no less than four croissants with butter and jam.

  After stuffing himself, he went back to his room and shucked the pajamas and bathrobe. He put on his jogging duds, went downstairs, out the front door, and began a run through the plush neighborhood. He had to stop once to throw up the enormous breakfast in his stuffed belly; then he continued the circuit.

  And thus began a hard-ass, self-imposed program of roadwork, lifting weights, swimming laps in the family's Olympic-size indoor pool, and punching a heavy bag. The latter workout was particularly vigorous since he imagined the inoffensive target of his fists as Cliff Armbrewster, the jock who had taken Penny Brubaker away from him.

  Then the decision that was to really change his life was made while watching television. The Arts and Entertainment Channel showed an hour-long program on the U.S. Navy SEALs. The next day, Chad presented himself at the recruiting office in Cambridge and signed on for a four-year hitch, volunteering for the SEALs. The petty officer recruiter took one look at the skinny kid and figured he would never make it through much more than about five minutes of Hell Week. But the sailor had a quota to meet, so he signed the young volunteer up.

  Chad went to Boot Camp at the Naval Training Center in Great Lakes, Illinois. He came out of those weeks about five pounds heavier, but still skinny. From there, he went to Class A School, where he was given specialized training to qualify him for a disbursement clerk's rating to work in the Navy's financial department. When that was finished, the eager young sailor put in for the SEALs. In order to make it to BUD/S, he had to pass a physical fitness test. In spite of Boot Camp, he barely squeaked by. The pull-ups were particularly tough, and his little arms fairly trembled with the effort before he got out the required number. The run, on the other hand, was a piece of cake. He fairly flew around the course, completing the mandatory distance with time to spare.

  When he showed up at the Naval Amphibious Base in Coronado, California, the BUD/S instructors couldn't believe the runt had actually passed the qualifying tests. But eventually, they recognized the big heart in the little guy. He gave it his all, still going when larger, more muscular candidates caved in. His slight frame turned out to be advantageous during underwater free-swimming sessions, since the kid didn't need a lot of oxygen and his eel-like physique allowed him to move rapidly through the water.

  Chad continued the training, struggling more with his natural clumsiness than a lack of zeal or courage. One instructor who recognized the inner strength of the Slim Jim gave him encouragement through guidance and compliments where he deserved them. When the BUD/S class curriculum was completed, Chad Murchison had won the eagle and trident of the SEALs. And he now weighed a muscular twenty pounds more than the day he enlisted.

  The SEAL and Penny Brubaker were destined to meet again sooner than either expected. It was in Afghanistan during Brannigan's Brigands' first operation as a unit, and she was a UN sanitation and hygiene instructor on the staff of a relief team. The reunion was an emotional whirlwind for them both. Penny happily told him she had broken her engagement with Armbrewster, and returned to Boston to find Chad, only to be told he had enlisted in the Navy.

  In the heady days following this unexpected get-together, they became an item once again. But this time, with more maturity and experience, the young couple had sex out in the desert on Chad's poncho. It was primitive and exhilarating for the two sophisticated city kids, and their passion was intense and feral.

  Afterward, instead of being thrilled with getting back the girl of his dreams, Chad felt his passion for her begin to wane. It was something that he couldn't understand no matter how much he turned it over in his mind. His experiences in training and combat had turned him into a completely different person, with a life that had no room for conventional romance. The SEALs were everything to him.

  .

  1500 HOURS

  A blur appeared in the haze on the desert horizon, and Chad Murchison stood up in his position aboard the DPV, steadying himself on the roll bars. He took his binoculars from their case, putting them to his eyes. After a few moments, he could see the white tents with the blue letters un stenciled on them. Somewhere among those canvas structures was Penny Brubaker. Chad sat back down, wondering how he was going to handle the coming reunion.

  Command Two sat at the edge of the camp with several people standing around it. The other two vehicles of the Command Section pulled up to a stop. CPO Matt Gunnarson, driving Green Two with Chad Murchison, slowed down to let Green One go around him. He followed him up to the other vehicles with Green Three just behind his DPV. The Red Assault Section followed, pulling up to the left side of the impromptu vehicle park.

  Lieutenant Bill Brannigan and his 2IC Jim Cruiser approached the group of people waiting at the edge of the camp. Dr. Pierre Bouchier stepped forward with his hand extended. Bonjour, Monsieur le Lieutenant Brannigan. Je suis charme de vous revoir encore I am pleased to see you again.

  Likewise, Dr. Bouchier, Brannigan said. How have you been?

  Quite well, thank you, Bouchier replied. We finished our work with the Warlord Khamami's people. At least, we accomplished all that was possible under the conditions he
re in Afghanistan. I have heard he is deep into the farming of opium poppies and smuggling of same.

  No surprise there, Brannigan said. He reintroduced Jim Cruiser, then noticed the attractive young lady standing slightly to the rear. Hello! he called over to her. I remember you quite well.

  I'm pleased that you do, Penny Brubaker replied. Is Chad Murchison with you, by any chance?

  He sure is, Brannigan said. He turned toward the Green Assault Section. Petty Officer Murchison! Front and center!

  Chad slowly dismounted the DPV and walked toward the assembled people, slipping his HK-416 carbine over his shoulder. Penny rushed toward him, her face lit with a smile of pure delight. He felt guilty as he took her in his arms. He responded when she held her face up to be kissed. The SEAL pressed his lips against hers, aware of the growing tightness of her embrace.

  Jim Cruiser, suppressing a laugh, called over, Murchison, you're excused from duty until further notice. Take a break.

  Aye, sir, Chad replied.

  The couple walked away with Penny holding onto his arm. She led him over to where three of her girlfriends waited. Chad, I want you to meet Erika Maanchen, Irena Poczinska, and Josefina Vargas. The four of us work together giving classes to the Pashtun ladies.

  Josefina glanced over at the SEALs who were sizing up the UN women. The Spanish nurse smiled and gazed boldly back at the sailors. We hope to meet all your friends while you are here, Chad.

  Chad grinned. Believe me, they hope they can meet you too.

  We'll worry about that later, Penny said. She pulled on him, taking him into the formation of tents until reaching hers. This is where I live. She gave him what she hoped was a seductive look. Would you like to see it?

  Sure, Chad replied.

  Penny opened the flap and followed him inside. She embraced him again. Oh, Chaddie, darling! We won't be bothered in here. My roomies will stay away until we come out.

  He was confused. How did they know I was coming?

  Those two guys you call the Odd Couple told me you were on your way when they got here earlier, Penny said. Why didn't you write me and tell me you were in Afghanistan?