V.I.C.T.O.R.S

By William Lynn Smith

This is a story of technology and its relationship with today's combat situations. The acronym VICTORS stands for Validation, Infiltration, and Capture/Terrorize Objective Resolution. The main part of this program is a group of artificial intelligence driven/satellite controlled land drones. The

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Smith Publications
• Release date: Apr 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954168169

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Foxtrot leader, this is Baker two. I am to your west and have eyes on the objective; repeat, we are set. Recon Unit Gunnery Sergeant Mark Simmons released the transmit button on his headset and leaned against the dirt bank. He felt his skin chafe against his body armor. He pulled the slide back on his weapon for the umpteenth time and noted the dull shine of the round in the chamber. His mind flickered to a familiar thought since he started his deployments; What’s a nice black kid from North Memphis doin’ hunkered down in a desert dry wash instead of a nice rack somewhere?

The area he was to address was not much more than a dry wash in the desert of Kandahar province. It wasn’t that long ago that he was part of a deployment to guard the contractors that rebuilt the highway they were now trying to take back from the insurgents. Now the green hue of his night vision helmet monocular eye piece illuminated the scene with a surreal intensity.

His thoughts went back to the briefing the CIA spook gave them at forward base Yankee. Like most military folks Gunnery Sergeant Mark Simmons had no love for these guys. Go to the coordinates given and establish a line to intercept whatever comes at you. You are cleared for the use of extreme prejudice against anything attempting to pass your location

Mark peeled the Velcro cover back off his service Berretta nine millimeter side arm and lightly brushed the anti personnel grenades on his belt. He whispered to himself, Ain’t nobody goin’ to get by us tonight, spook.

Forty five minutes later his headset crackled to life Foxtrot leader, this is SATCOM; there is a large group of bogeys to your south and they are moving toward you; repeat, at least twenty or thirty moving in straight line and fast.

Copy that; Baker two, did you copy? Simmons’ adrenalin pumped high octane into his system. He almost pushed his ear piece through his helmet Affirm Foxtrot leader. Simmons squad was dug in along the lip of the dry wash, some sixty meters from the road. The wash was about ten meters across and their position was about four meters above it. Simmons had planned well; his field of fire and view were perfect. The bogeys would have to hold on the other side of the wash or get chopped to pieces trying to cross it. Baker squad, keep ‘em raked toward the center. Watch your ammo consumption ‘cause we may be here a while.

Sergeant Simmons had barely finished the last transmission when the first insurgent broke cover and ran down the bank to cross the wash toward him. The Marine to his left dropped the man with a three round burst. Almost simultaneously two more ran recklessly through the brush and were dropped before getting half way across the wash. A turkey shoot. Without hesitation or maneuvering the enemy combatants ran headlong down the sand bank and continued into the open wash into Baker squad’s murderous meat grinder.

Finally one tripped up and fell unwounded. Two more stopped and while one pulled the fallen one up to continue their run, the other began to fire wildly back at the way they had come. The man that had fallen was not doing well; he continued to limp and his comrade continued to help him. Finally the guy firing his AK47 back into the night ran out of ammo. He threw his weapon down joining the stampede toward the Americans.

Simmons could hardly believe what he saw. What th’? He pulled up his weapon and made a hard decision; one he knew could be fatal on the battlefield. He pressed his transmitter Cease fire, cease fire; Sparky, tell them to stop and lay down their arms; get face down on the ground or we will continue to shoot ‘em.

PFC Harold Acampo began to rattle off Simmons’ commands over the bullhorn in Pashto to the men in the wash. Immediately they all complied but kept a wary eye toward their rear..

Foxtrot leader, Baker two; the perimeter is intact, repeat, the perimeter held. The bogies are contained within our field of fire and have surrendered. Request EOD unit respond to our location for prisoner search. Simmons was feeling like he had just crossed the finish line of a marathon. His adrenalin was still coursing wildly through his body; his head was about to burst, his heart was beating like a trip hammer and his breath ripped through his dry throat like sandpaper. It was with a great deal of effort that he balanced his elation about surviving the attack and his certainty that this wasn’t anywhere near over.

However something didn’t click. These guys are seasoned fighters; the kind he had faced many times during his four deployments. Right or wrong, they believed in their cause enough to put their lives on the line to take ours. Even if it was a suicide charge, why didn’t they start shooting when we did? If they were out of ammo, why did they try to help the fallen keep coming into certain death? When the boomers from EOD search them for explosive devices, maybe there would be some answers.

Hey Boss. The young Marine to his left said. That was weird; those guys were runnin’ at us like we weren’t even here. They must be high on somethin’. Simmons didn’t answer at first; he just peered out into the open space beyond the wash and finally said Stay focused Marine. We ain’t out of the woods yet. Those guys weren’t high on anything’; they’re just more scared of what’s chasin’ ‘em than they are of us.

Daylight arrived along with the explosive ordinance disposal boomers and a contingent of intelligence personnel. The prisoners were searched and processed for transport back to forward base Yankee for interrogation. Simmons and the rest of Baker squad were ordered to establish a perimeter and to stand down awaiting further orders. Simmons couldn’t help but notice a marked difference between the demeanors of these detainees as opposed to the normally defiant and martyr like behavior exhibited by enemy combatants. These men were truly terrified; almost to the point of trauma. Reactions ranged from hand kissing the guards to remaining in a fetal position under something until forcibly removed from the scene.

Simmons’ headset snapped him back to focus; Foxtrot leader to Baker two.

Baker two He replied.

Report to the S-1 Intelligence officer. That’d be Colonel Martin at your location for further instructions.

Copy that. Simmons turned to Corporal Nate Smith Smitty, take the wheel; I gotta run down the ringmaster of this circus.

He walked past the two Stryker vehicles to where the prisoners were being loaded into transport trucks. He zeroed in on the one that looked like he was in charge and approached. Coming to a fatigued attention, Simmons saluted and said Beg your pardon, sir. My CO told me to report to S1. Could you direct me to him?

The man turned and the only thing more impressive than the birds on his collar was the piercing blue eyes accentuating his stern dirty face. That’d be me, Gunny. Is your squad ready to move out?

Yes sir, Colonel… he looked for a name tag but it was obscured.

Good; your squad will move out ahead of that Stryker, he motioned toward the vehicle sitting on a dirt track leading back to the east Team up with Lieutenant Taylor’s boomers and clear the way to the insurgent compound at Tussah.

Yes sir Simmons snapped a combat weary salute and turned away but hesitated slightly. The Colonel asked "Somthin’ on your mind Gunny??

Yes sir; it seems like I’ve been in this place for a coon’s age and I’ve never seen their fighters act like they did in the wash. My interpreter could only get a few words out of ‘em about it and even those made no sense.

The Colonel’s eyes narrowed And what words were those Gunny?

Simmons shrugged All garbled; darkness dwellers, Devils, Satan, demon…these guys were afraid for their very souls. He chuckled "The grunts loadin’ them in the trucks are whinnin’ about the ride back to Yankee. Seems a lot of the fighters captured crapped their pants during their run through the brush.

The Colonel shook his head and looked toward Tussah Same bunch of garbage that my folks are gettin’. Maybe we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth Gunny but whatever is or was out there scared the livin’… He stopped and looked back at Simmons And I hope to God it’s on our side.

Tussah was a small fishing village on the Caspian Sea coast about two kilometers to the east. The trek to the insurgent compound was uneventful but still slow and methodical. His point man was accompanied by two explosive disposal boomers scanning ahead for explosive devices or IEDs.

When the low mud brick buildings came into view the entire contingent stopped. The point men found an explosive device hidden in a culvert with a Viet Nam war era detonator trip wire leading from one clump of brush across the road to another bush. After the device was neutralized, Baker squad crossed the culvert and fanned out avoiding the open area in front of the compound of buildings. There were two bodies; apparently guard duty was their last assignment, splayed out beside the path leading to the open gate into the compound. Simmons was immediately suspicious considering the lack of bodily trauma of blood spatter or pooling. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled as he made a double take on his surroundings.

Vehicle tread marks denoted that the path was in all likelihood clear of antipersonnel mines. He signaled his point man to move out following closely the tread marks on that path to position himself to the left of the gateway.

The blood in his ears pounded as he watched the Marine pick his way toward the gate and gained his position. Number two and three followed the same track and hugged the wall on the right side of the gate. There was still no response from inside the compound. Goats and donkeys could be heard apparently wanting to be fed but no other sound emitted from behind the wall.

Simmons left the remainder of his Marines to cover the perimeter and moved to left of the open gate. After a quick check of the bodies, both dead, he then signaled for entry. The Marines entered the gate crisscrossing the opening to cover the back of the other. Again, there was no response from the windows or doorways. Simmons hesitated and continued looking hard at the surroundings. He leaned back against the gate post, sighed and pushed his helmet back on his head whispering to himself Get a grip man; there is enough to worry about here. Quit lookin’ for bogeymen. He turned back to the task at hand by dividing his squad up into two groups and they systematically searched each building.

Their search yielded three more bodies; apparently sentries caught just as unaware as the ones at the gate. They were lying where they died at the entrances of the buildings. Again there were no wounds or trauma evident on either body. Their AK47 assault rifles were within reach. When his guys inspected them they found that the magazines were full.

The gravel and sand indicated some sort of struggle. From the evidence, or lack of it, Simmons assumed that each man was neutralized in a hand to hand situation. But why leave a fully loaded and functional weapon in easy reach? The grizzled warrior involuntarily shuddered and thought Bogeymen apparently don’t need weapons. He almost jumped out of his skin when Smitty touched his shoulder and said softly Boss, it looks like we missed somebody’s farewell party.

Completing their search of the buildings, they secured the compound and the perimeter. Simmons contacted Lieutenant Taylor Baker two; target achieved and secured. Thus advised, Taylor moved the rest of the contingent to the compound. The EOD boomers and the S1 personnel began their inspection of the buildings.

In structure after structure there was evidence of a quick and chaotic evacuation. The body count was not indicative of a major engagement. Only seven bodies were recovered; five sentries and two more inside a barracks building. Even though there was evidence of struggles, no overt injuries could be attributed to the deaths. The ground around the buildings was littered with bullet casings, carelessly tossed AK47s and other weapons apparently thrown down during the evacuation of the compound.

One of Simmons’ Marines walked up and asked Boss, have you ever seen anything like this before? Simmons adjusted his vest and slung his rifle putting the ‘bogeyman’ notion out of his mind. Nope.

In the armory building, Simmons’ squad found six hundred AK47 assault rifles in cases; a hundred rocket propelled grenade launchers; sixteen hundred rocket propelled grenades; forty thousand rounds of ammunition; parts and tools as well as American MRE rations and other sundry items.

In a separate room they discovered two thousand pounds of C4 explosives. They found no boxes disturbed or any other evidence of pilfering by the force that took over the compound from the insurgents.

In the headquarters building there were twenty satellite telephones, forty cell phones, two UHF transmitters, ten remote detonators and countless hand held detonators; a safe containing documents such as American passports, student visa blanks, as well as various blank government badges for CIA, NSA and FBI. A separate safe contained two hundred thousand Euros, five hundred thousand dollars and two hundred ounces of gold.

The garage areas held ten vehicles; six pickup trucks with M-60 machinegun mounts; three Mercedes SUVs and an English Bentley sedan. There were also five two hundred gallon tanks that held fuel for the vehicles.

Smitty looked behind the garage area where there was a corral containing several goats and a donkey. Do ya’ suppose they left the donkey in charge of all this stuff? Simmons finally accepted the situation as secure, winked and said It wouldn’t be the first time an armed ass was left in charge here, Marine.

CHAPTER 2

A young Marine private stuck his head into Simmons’ quarters and shouted. Hey Gunny, the old man wants to see you ASAP Simmons looked up and frowned Copy that, tell him I’ll be there in five. It had been a short but tiring mission and he was looking forward to a little down time. Debriefing is tedious at times but after Tussah he was sure the old man had a few questions that needed answers or at least excuses.

He squared away his appearance and hustled over to the Colonel’s headquarters. He removed his helmet, stepped inside and was greeted by the colonel’s aide. Go right in Gunny; he’s expecting you.

Simmons pulled back the canvas curtain, entered the office, snapped to attention and saluted. You wanted to see me sir?

Colonel Mel Blevins regarded Simmons a few seconds, returned his salute and said At ease Gunny. I heard that the mission to Tussah was successful today. It looks like we really put the hurt on their supply chain.

Simmons relaxed and enjoyed his narrative Yes sir; twenty prisoners, seven confirmed dead, over a ton and a half of ordinance and close to a thousand small arms as well as a bunch of ammunition.

Colonel Blevins brow furrowed How was it? I mean I have been hearing scuttlebutt about what the mental state the prisoners are in and the condition of the target. Was there really no evidence of gunfire exchange?

The conversation was taking on an interrogation sense and Simmons was feeling that old the hammer is about to drop feeling. Except for a few rounds of empty shell casings, we saw no evidence of recent activity regarding debris, or blood, sir. Me and the squad figured the Seals threw a surprise stealth party and just left the mop up to us; as usual.

Colonel Blevins couldn’t help a slight chuckle. No Gunny; not this time. This show was all the spook’s handling. It is part of a classified operation code named V.I.C.T.O.R.S.. Don’t ask because my pay grade isn’t high enough to even be read in on it…other than to assign a ‘much needed elsewhere’ rifle squad to ‘em.

That last little tidbit of information overshadowed the entire debriefing and was the ‘hammer’ that Simmons’ gut sensed. Colonel Blevins continued This operation proved so successful yesterday that SecNav has given NSA and CIA the go ahead for its continuation and evaluation. That’s where you and your squad come in. With the exception of…Corporal Parker, the rest of your guys have just started deployment. That means that we have a cohesive unit with the service life span of about nine months. This fact will give the spooks the security of the operation and control of its application that only a rifle squad of seasoned Marines can provide.

Simmons was still sifting through the information given when he heard his voice say Thank you sir; we will provide the level of service the Corps has come to expect; even for the spooks.

Colonel Blevins stood and sighed Good; have your Marines squared away, geared up and ready for transport at 05:00 tomorrow. Headquarters Company will reassign Corporal Parker stateside. A stern secrecy order, a little R and R with a cushy duty station for his duration should give the spooks the information security they desire. Dismissed, Gunny; go hit the rack

Simmons stood up at attention and saluted Colonel Blevins Semper Fi. Blevins smiled, returned the salute Ooh Rah and good hunting, Gunny.

As Simmons was walking back to his quarters he couldn’t help but reflect on the ramifications of this assignment. Over his career in the Corps he had always kept arm’s length away from CIA types or spooks as they are less than affectionately known. Yeah, he had taken on this Recon assignment at Yankee attached to CIA intelligence units. He went through the Spook’s vetting procedure but he figured ‘what the hell’ it’ give him some good stories for his grand kids. His fire team had taken all the required lie detector stuff as well. However he drew the line at Recon; he had seen a lot of good Marines absorbed into their cloak and dagger or black’ ops and usually it didn’t end well for them. Terms like grunts and expendables" were used for their descriptions by those college cowboys. However, after what happened yesterday at Tussah, maybe this time those clowns have stumbled on to something… maybe.

He entered the barracks tent and his squad in various states of dress snapped to attention. At ease he said We have got to be geared up and ready for transport tomorrow at 05:00. Pack your lockers for shipment ‘cause we ain’t comin’ back here. Get that done, hit the rack and get some sleep. I don’t know how long or where you’ll be able to do that again.

Smitty looked over at Simmons Boss, are we buggin’ out? Simmons turned to leave and said over his shoulder Nah; Yankee is stayin’, we’re the only unit that’s going.

CHAPTER 3

The air was cold and smelled of camp life the next morning. Simmons decided he wouldn’t miss forward base Yankee too much. This part of the world is a funny place; temperature differences range from hotter’n hell to colder’n hell over the space of a few hours. You come to expect that so you make a decision when you get here; everyday you’re gonna be uncomfortable, either shiverin’ or sweatin’ so you can’t really dress accordingly. Since you never know how long or where you are goin’ to end up, you usually wear or carry everything you own on missions.

Simmons was a fairly large man; six foot one inch at two hundred and five pounds. Fully dressed and armed for field operations, ol’ Sergeant Mark will tip the scales a tad under three hundred pounds. That is exactly why he felt really good when the motor pool sergeant pointed out three Humvees designated for his squad’s use. He signed the log, looked over his shoulder at the rest of Baker squad and shouted Alright you sand fleas stow your gear in those desert limos. Looks like we’re not walkin’ today… at least for a while.

A smallish man garbed in combat gear approached Simmons. Gunnery Sergeant Mark Simmons? Simmons turned to face the young man and noticed a baby faced individual, another one of too many he has seen over his career. Private First Class Barry Lecrue reporting for duty, sir.

Simmons scowled down at the newcomer Marine; what time were you told to report to me?

05:00, sir Lecrue replied looking down at Simmons’ feet.

What time is it now?

I don’t know, sir. Someone stole, uh, I lost my watch at intake yesterday and I haven’t had the opportunity to get another one.

Simmons felt the hot anger driven by someone dumping another untrained and ill prepared individual on him welling up. "Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss. Me and my squad will make every effort to accommodate your bad luck. However, before you join our little group, as a Gunnery Sergeant in the United States Marine Corps and your leader, I have three things to inform you of…Number one, I don’t care if you eat wire and crap a watch; you will have one…period! Number two, if you are ever late again I will shoot you for desertion when you do drag your ragged butt in myself! And number three, I am an enlisted Marine, not an officer… you’d better use ‘sir’ when you speak to them… you will use Gunnery Sergeant or boss when you address me! You will respect that distinction! Is that clear to you, meat bag?

The young Marine seemed to shrink into his battle rattle as he braced himself against the gale force tirade. Simmons stopped and took a deep breath then noticed the moistness around his target’s eyes. "Marines do not cry for themselves, pond scum! If that tear hits the ground you will bury it in a five by five foot hole!"

Simmons reached into his flak vest pocket and pulled out an old Timex he used as his spare watch. He pushed it into the recruit’s flak jacket. "You’re gonna drive that first Hummer… mine! Now stow you gear and get your sorry butt behind the wheel!"

Among the motor pool personnel standing around the two protagonists was a man in civilian clothes wearing a helmet and flak vest. He smiled as he addressed Simmons in a smooth and slippery tone Very impressive, sergeant. You certainly asserted your authority over that pimply faced punk. He will certainly think twice before messing up like that again.

Simmons slowly turned and faced the civilian regarding him closely I don’t know you so I will give you the respect that unfamiliarity deserves. That man behind the wheel of my Humvee is a United States Marine Private First Class and I expect you to respect him as such. He is expected to use all his resources, up to and including his very life, for the missions he is assigned. He expects and will receive no less from me. It is not his fault that somewhere down the line some moron in authority did not properly prepare him for combat and that fact could cost him or worse me, our lives. Every Marine, no matter how green, must know precise timing is paramount in operations; not just a good thing to practice. So if you want to berate him you have berated me and mister I don’t berate well. In fact if you find it necessary to refer to any member of my squad as anything else but ‘Marine’ I will personally rip out your self-serving tongue and shove it up your puckered butt. Is that clear? Now, just who are you and what business do you have with me?

The man’s tone changed to a flustered and less smooth speech pattern. I’m David McMasters, defense contractor DefCorp Research and Development Operations out of Virginia. Please accept my apologies for anything I said that offended you or your Marine.

Simmons