tjtoaster's blog: "Ranger Down"

This is the second draft of my Ranger Down story. It has some content changes and some errors were fixed. The doors explode open and a hurricane of activity comes screaming into the emergency room of Harborview Medical Center. The doctor who was waiting outside is getting the patient’s stats from the paramedic who is rattling off a stream of information. Theresa, the nurse, was outside on a smoke break when they came in so she really doesn’t have anything to do since there are so many hands on the young man. His hair is cropped short like he is right out of a Leave it to Beaver episode, he doesn’t look like he is old enough to drink, hell he barely looks old enough to shave. But there is something in his eyes, it is a determination. When she makes eye contact she can see his eyes pleading with her, she just isn’t sure what they are trying to say. He keeps trying to talk but only gurgles up blood, his one arm that works keeps trying to remove the oxygen mask. The paramedic places it back over his mouth in a practiced motion. Clearly he has been trying to do this for a while. Most people who come in with gunshot wounds are more than happy to lay there and accept treatment. Especially when they have multiple gunshots wounds. Some even wail and moan, but this kid looks like he wants to get off the gurney and do something. Not run away like the criminals they get, but he clearly wants to go somewhere. Theresa looks at him and asks, “what are you trying to say?” She sees his hand limply try to reach behind him, so she stops him and checks in the area he is trying to go. Her hand returns with his wallet. She opens it and sees a picture of an older woman, maybe his mom. “Do you want me to call her,” she asks. Frustrated he grabs the picture and throws it aside. In a crowded hospital ER, he may never see that again. Now that she is no longer distracted by the picture he keeps pointing at the wallet. What could be so important in the wallet? Undaunted Theresa keeps digging. Next she comes up with his military ID card. That explains the haircut. Again he grabs it and throws it aside. Military ID cards are very important from what she understands and it is bad to lose it. There must be something very important in that wallet is he is willing to cast aside his ID card so casually. When she picks out a white business card he grabs the wallet and throws it aside. Theresa looks at the card and sees him extend his thumb and pinky. “Yeah, hang loose,” the paramedic says. With that the young solder collapses and she stops, watching him disappear into one of the trauma rooms. Not hang loose, that was the signal for “call me”. He wants her to make a phone call. On one side of the card is a couple phone numbers, on the other side is two words. She knows not what havoc she is going to unleash with one phone call. “Rangers lead the way,” the voice says with the way he has been instructed to answer the phone in the headquarters, “Second Ranger Battalion, Sergeant Jordan speaking can I help you sir or ma’am?” Sometimes he throws in that it is an unsecure line, but it is late, it is a weekend and he is at that point where he doesn’t care. The Private on duty is playing Halo to pass the time on the 24 hour shift. Private Diaz listens to the conversation in case he has to do something, but he has been at the unit less than a month and wouldn’t know what to do anyway. He sees the Sergeant cover the phone and say, “Another Rangerette, this one is a nurse. She hooked up with some guy and is now calling CQ.” “Yes ma’am when I see him I will tell him you called,” he states. Jordan has had to deal with his share of Rangerettes or ‘CQ Mary’s’. CQ Mary is the best, they are Ranger groupies and if you play your cards right they will stop by and give you some stress relief. He is surprised when he is hung up on. “Bitch.” When she dials the next number the answer is much less formal, and a lot more gruff. “Life, limb, or eyesight?” the voice asks. “What?” “Is this a matter of life, limb or eyesight? If I am getting a call at this hour someone had better be about to lose their life, limb or eyesight, if not there will be very soon.” Clearly he is not pleased, but the young kid seemed very insistent so Theresa pushes on. “Life I guess. There is a young man who came into Harborview Medical Center with multiple GSW and handed me a card that says simply ‘Ranger Down’.” With those tow words Sergeant Major Roc sits up straight, instantly awake. “Can you confirm that you said ‘Ranger Down’ and that this isn’t a joke?” Theresa starts from the beginning, gives him a number to be reached at, and is hung up on. It isn’t rude, just curt and she can tell that this man is going to make things happen. She doesn’t know what those things are. “Rangers lead the way this is Sergeant Jordan can I help you Sir or ma’am?” “This is Command Sergeant Major Roc, Ranger down!” Jordan sits up so fast in his chair he almost falls over, “Yes Sergeant Major!” “Call everyone in, I will be in riki tic, I want the red cycle unit to be standing tall in formation when I get in. Anyone is Seattle needs to stay there and wait by a phone.” “Yes Sergeant Major.” “Oh and Sergeant Jordan, if you are ever that unprofessional to someone calling in again, I will personally end you, Hooah?” It isn’t a real question, and he hangs up before he gets an answer. Sergeant Majors are Gods in the Army, no one questions them, and the Ranger Battalion is no different. While being a Battalion Sergeant Major can be like herding cats, being the senior enlisted man for Rangers is like herding tigers and getting them to do your bidding without question. CSM Roc is perfect for the job. The Ranger Battalion becomes a flurry of activity. There is always a unit on “Red Cycle” that means that they can be anywhere in the world in eighteen hours. Shock troops as they are sometimes called. This time Bravo company is on Red Cycle which means that none of them can be more than an hour away, and have to check in all the time. They issue out pagers for those who want to leave the base. Since they can’t drink most don’t go anywhere. Only those that have girlfriends off post or are from the local area. Fortunately there is a phone tree for just such an emergency so the NCO on Staff Duty only has to make a few phone calls and sends the private to round up whoever is around. Jordan doesn’t know what is going on but this is big. In his time in the Ranger Batt he has never known of a Ranger Down situation, so he just does as he is told and calls everyone. There are a few things that will stop everything in the Army. A Red Cross message, a congressional inquiry, and the sound of a pager that never goes off. The reason it never goes off is because nothing ever happens. There are never any test pages. You sign it out, go off base, have your fun, and turn it back in later. So when the permanently silent pager makes noise, you answer. Scott Darby is sitting back and enjoying the show, literally. Since he is on Red Cycle, he can’t drink, neither can his squad mates. So they decide to hit the strip club. Because they are traveling together, only one person has to sign for a pager. When it goes off he reads the message and stands to leave. All he has to do is raise his index finger in the air and make a circle and everyone else gets up to follow him. The “rally” signal is pretty common and is unmistakable. Of course it is easy to follow the guy who has the car keys when he is leaving. Drew is the only one who didn’t see it, of course he is distracted by the lap dance he is currently enjoying. When Scott whispers, “Ranger Down” into his ear, he pushes the half naked stripper off him and follows them out to the car. Sergeant McCoy is in the middle of chatting up a girl when his hip vibrates. It startles him so much he almost spills his soda on her. After reading it, he gets the guys who are came to Pioneer Square with him and tells them all to, “stand by for further instructions” he makes a quick call on his cell phone and continues to talk to the girl. Not that he is interested in her anymore; he is just killing time until someone contacts him. Staff Sergeant Samuel Isler has made an investment in both time and money. He has been seeing Janet for a few weeks. They both knew how tonight would end, but she still wanted the dance. So he took her out to a nice dinner, they took a walk along the Tacoma waterfront, and then as he dropped her off, he politely waited to be invited in. Sam isn’t what you think of as your typical Ranger, he is smart, articulate, level headed and well read. He isn’t just trying to drink away his military career, or try to see how many notches he can put in his bedpost. However he does share the qualities with how you think of your typical Ranger, he is in top physical condition, he is an aggressive fighter and can outshoot your average soldier even on his worst day. He is also takes a lot of pride in his Ranger tab. It is no wonder that he checks the pager as soon as it chirps. “You have got to be kidding,” Janet mutters looking at the naked man reading the text message on the pager. It reads, “RANGER DOWN! REPORT IN, THOSE IN SEATTLE STAY THERE AND WAIT FOR ORDERS ALL OTHERS RTB.” Knowing there is no way she will understand Sam looks at the Trojan package with the single tear in the wrapping and throws it away as he grabs his clothes. He does manage an “I’m sorry,” but he is not sure if she will believe, understand, or forgive. And right now he doesn’t have the time to get into it. Specialist Walter Chong found himself in a similar situation, but his girlfriend lives in Seattle, not far from where he was raised, so he jumps back into bed. While he is waiting for further instructions he might as well pass the time. And this is indeed his favorite pastime. Rangers take pride in being Rangers. There are a couple distinct ways that the pride is manifested. Some believe in the Ranger Creed like it is a mantra. They believe that it is up to them to “Set the example for others to follow” that being a Ranger means that you live by a higher standard. They accept that burden and live in that way. There are the others that believe the hype. They think that “elite” means better. They are the ones with the arrogance, the ones getting drunk and fighting. They look down on “big Army” soldiers and consider everyone who doesn’t wear the Ranger Scroll unit patch to be lesser. They even look down on those in the Special Forces community as glory hounds who get the better press. It is exactly this type that Sergeant Wright is. Since he is better than the rest of the Army, their rules don’t apply to him. Unfortunately he also thinks that some rules of the Ranger Battalion don’t apply to him either. He is very wrong. The halls are alive with activity everyone is running around grabbing uniforms and checking gear. Even those on their cell phones are moving with a purpose. He is standing in Alpha companies barracks when he hears the shouting “Ranger Down!” echo through the halls. No one really knows exactly what this means, but Rangers aren’t exactly lacking in enthusiasm, especially when it means looking after one of their own. The company duty NCO walks the second floor of the barracks and calls out, “Stand by, you will have more information as it comes in. If you are in Bravo company you are to report in formation….in uniform…time fucking NOW!” That announcement runs a chill through Wright’s spine. He is standing outside a friend’s room, holding a beer. Yes he is on Red Cycle, but they never get called up. The idea of being in formation with alcohol on his breath is not a pleasant one. There is nothing he can do except pour out his beer and head to his unit. At least he can grab some mouthwash once he is back in his room changing. He is stopped by Bravo company CQ. The Charge of Quarters private is stopping everyone coming in and says, “Top says that formation is come as you are.” That is not good. The company First Sergeant is already there and doesn’t want to wait for people to get changed into uniform. He not on;y sees soldiers in civilian clothes but BDU pants and civilian t-shirts or sneakers and not boots. No one is getting yelled at, they really mean come as you are. There is no way he is going to be able to disguise his breath. He is screwed. The benefit of the phone tree is that most people only need to call one person. Platoon Sergeants call squad leaders. Squad leaders call their fire team leaders. Everyone just calls the name on the list below his own. If he can’t get reach that person, he calls the next name on the list. The last person call the top person and reports who could not be reached. Command Sergeant Major Roc pulls into his parking space and walks right up to the First Sergeant for Bravo Company. He is in the middle of getting the report when the very familiar car of the Battalion Commander pulls into the fence that separates the Ranger Battalion from the rest of Fort Lewis. “Shit.” CSM Roc takes the Commander into his office. No need for the troops to see this. The CO settles into his chair for what will be nothing but bad news. He is wondering why he wasn’t informed at first, is his senior enlisted shielding him, or keeping him out of the loop? He will listen objectively; this man deserves the benefit of the doubt so when he is ready he simply says, “Report.” “Sir,” Roc starts off respectfully, “The information we have so far is that a Specialist from Charlie company is in a Seattle Hospital with multiple gunshot wounds. Information is still coming in, but what we know is that he was with two other soldiers that are at this time unaccounted for. He passed off the card to a nurse in the emergency room. I have accounted for most of the soldiers in the Battalion, with everyone coming in except those in the Seattle area in case we need to stage a group or to gather Intel.” The Commander is hard to read, so he continues, “with all due respect Sir, the more you know the less deniability you have. This goes for all officers. You have careers, the enlisted can just say they are following orders. Unless they make an E-10 rank, this is as far as I can get. You might want to consider sitting this one out.” That is how any good Non Commissioned Officer would handle it. Give the commander options. He can know that Roc will take care of the situation, and he can be insulated from the fallout. He doesn’t say anything at first, just contemplating what his options are. After a while he says, “Send in the officers.” With that, Roc salutes and leaves. When this goes to court-martial, and this most likely will, he wants to remember his last salute before he had to appear before the board. This is a good one, saluting a man he has known and served with for a very long time. Your last salute should be to someone you respect above all others. On his way out to the waiting soldiers he sees a man in a black flight suit strolling up. He has the unconcerned swagger of a Chief Warrant Officer. CSM Roc doesn’t even have to see his face to know who it is. There are two things that are ever present with this guy. He is popping gum and carrying a spill proof metal coffee mug. No one has ever seen him put gum in, so maybe he has been chewing the same piece for the past three years, and that coffee mug just might be permanently attached to his left hand. Chief Warrant Officer 4 Lancer is the typical flight Warrant. He gets the best of both worlds, the respect of NCOs, and gets saluted. The pay is better and he gets to fly all the time. He gets paid to play, and you can’t beat that. Warrant Officers usually have the confidence, but lack the arrogance of other fliers. They have nothing to prove, considered “subject matter experts” they call each other by first names and keep it as relaxed as possible. Flight Warrants don’t have troops, either to lead, or set an example for so their lives truly are cake. “Sup Sarent Major,” he drawls in his lazy style. Calling him Sar-ent because Sergeant is too long. “What are you doing here Chief,” Roc asks, overlooking the name change. “Ranger down,” he says taking a sip, “I came.” Helicopter pilots and Rangers have had an unspoken agreement that was cemented In the Vietnam War. If a pilot ever went down he knew that the Rangers would come get him, and if a Ranger was ever in trouble, he knew that pilots would fly through anything to get him out. Both will do all they can to get the other out alive, but if that isn’t possible, they will bring a body out so your family has something to bury back home. “Not sure you want a piece of this Chief, might get a little sticky…legalwise.” “Okay stop with the hard sell, I’m in,” he replies smiling. “Unfortunately I have a chopper already stowed in the C-17 for travel as part of the Red Cycle; however I can give you one Chinook and two Blackhawks right now. I can wake up more if you need.” As they walk out the door Roc first hears, then sees a Blackhawk helicopter maneuvering from the hanger to real estate on the airfield nearest to the Ranger Battalion. “I love chopper jocks,” Roc mutters to himself. First Sergeant Carver clearly is not pleased. As the First Sergeant of Bravo Company it was his unit’s responsibility to be on Red Cycle. If anything happened they should be able to have a formation within an hour, be wheels up in two hours and anywhere in the world in eighteen hours, ready to fight. This ragtag group in front of him is a disappointment. While it is true that Red Cycle comes and goes without anything happening, but rules are rules, and some of his troops have obviously been drinking. His first order is to separate them. “Whoever has been drinking is to go to the dayroom and sleep it off. If you leave right now, I will not recommend Article 15 punishment. If you lie and jeopardize lives, I guarantee full punishment under the Uniform Code of Military Justice.” When put that simply, several men step out of formation. It looks bad, but not as bad as being a private tomorrow. Or getting a buddy killed. “Wright,” Carver calls after the group identifying the ranking member, “take charge, they can get poncho liners and that is it. They will not leave the day room until ordered too, understand?” “Roger First Sergeant,” is wisely all he says. This is one order he doesn’t dare screw up. Command Sergeant Major Roc comes up behind Carver and whispers, “I want their shit out of my rooms and I want them out of my Battalion before they wake up. Their platoon sergeants will report to me when this is all over. Sergeant Jordan hobbles over to Roc to give him a message, as usual the ones on duty are either screw ups or injured. Jordan broke his ankle on a jump a few weeks ago. Like a good troop he has yet to complain about it, like most Rangers he would rather be out in the woods blowing shit up rather than sitting behind a desk. The sight of him inspires Roc. “Get every brokedick on the chopper,” he bellows to the assembled leaders. They are going to a hospital after all. “They will wear civies and concealed pistols.” No sooner do the words reach the assembled troops, every solder with a cast or brace hobbles to the arms room. Most thought that they would be left out of the festivities, but now they are going to the show. That is when everyone knows this is real. They are going somewhere armed. Finally he addresses the assembled men. With no officers in the crowd he keeps it informal. “Here is the situation, Specialist Brown from C CO has been shot. As soon as he is stabilized, they are going to operate. He was with two buddies, neither is accounted for. Your first priority is to protect Brown, then we will find the others. This is a no-shit operation. Deadly force is authorized according to standard rules of engagement.” After letting that sink in, he passes out assignments. “Bravo Company will take point as a quick reaction force and establish a beachhead at the hospital. Alpha will follow on and set up a more static TOC, Charlie and Delta will prep and relieve them later. Headquarter platoons will get instructions individually. RANGERS LEAD THE WAY!!” “HOOAH!!!!” The collected mass responds and with that, they are in motion. SSG Isler is one of the lucky ones, as a member of red cycle he gets to be first in line, and as a sniper, his rifle and gear is set aside. Knowing that this is going to be an urban environment, he knows which gun case to bring, throwing the pack over his shoulder, he picks up the case and heads for his room to get the rest of his gear before he has to catch the flight. In his peripheral he sees something that catches his eye. “You aren’t taking that monster are you ,” he queries rhetorically. “This,” Darby asks hefting the Barrett .50 cal rifle, “better to have too much than not enough.” Not having a good rebuttal Isler leaves it alone. He isn’t responsible for everyone, and needs to find his spotter. There is some special gear he wants the second member of the two man team to grab. He shakes his head as he gives Specialist Darby one last glance. Snipers work in two man teams, and the Rangers have no shortage of them. Usually the team is made up of a Sergeant and lower enlisted soldier. But some of the best teams are two E-4s. The trouble with them is that they can lack the oversight and wisdom of a more senior soldier. You can’t argue with the numbers they have been posting at the range and field exercises. Besides, it may come in handy. Scott Darby looks at his teammate patting the M82 and states, “we are going to need more guns.” Drew sees the odd look in his eye and heads to the far corner of the arms room for something appropriate. Specialist Chong followed the instructions to the letter. As a native he knew the fastest way to the hospital, however he was slowed by the shower he had to take. As ordered the senior man (SGT McCoy) took charge. Since most do not go to the city to party with a weapon they are unarmed. But even without guns, Rangers aren’t defenseless. Some blend into the crowd, others wait for the reinforcements that will arrive soon. As the only medic assembled he is the one who enters the OR when Brown is wheeled in. He thought that he could sneak in with the “acquired” scrubs, but most doctors know who is on their staff and who should be in the room. “Who are you,” he demands. “Specialist Chong Sir,” he answers with respect. “Get out of my OR!” “No can do Sir. If I leave you will have another patient on your hands, either the person who tries to remove me or it will be me when Sergeant major gets here, I am here to be able to give him a first hand report and he is not the kind of man you disobey,” Chong answers in all seriousness. Then adds, “I am a trained combat medic. I have assisted in countless operations in Afghanistan and Iraq, as well as patched up Rangers under fire. I am sterile and qualified to be here.” “Stay,” the Doctor decides, he really doesn’t have the time to argue, and what can it hurt. Chong didn’t think he needed to add that the Glock in the small of his back is sterile too. Except for the gun oil you could eat off a Ranger’s handgun. He also didn’t want to say that he was ordered to not leave Brown’s side in case someone came for him. While medics aren’t combat troops, they are allowed under the Geneva conventions to protect a patient. He is not sure how the Geneva conventions cover this situation, but then again he is just following orders. Granted that didn’t work out too great for the Nazis, but one thing at a time. The Commander offers them the lifeline. The collected officers have careers to protect so they aren’t forced to participate in this. He has assignments for those that choose to go, and the rest should just go home. The less they know, the better. Alpha Company’s Commander Captain Dunn offers to take pass out the assignments and makes it clear that he is staying. Delta’s commander Captain Robinson makes it clear that he is not. They are ordered to go home and get their gear, any officer who comes back is volunteering to participate. With that The Commander exits his office and drives his car outside the Battalion fence without looking back. While the choppers fly over I-5 on their way north a young man sits slumped over in his chair. He doesn’t even bother to wipe the blood from his face. His hands and feet tied to a wooden chair, he appears to be in a state between conscious and unconscious. His captors aren’t sure he is even aware of what is going on around him. They can’t quite make out what he is muttering, but it seems to be the same thing over and over again. They lean in to make out: “Recognizing that I volunteered as a Ranger, fully knowing the hazards of my chosen profession. I will always endeavor to uphold the prestige, honor and high "esprit de corps" of my Ranger Regiment.” Lord Falco is the most powerful man in all the realm. When he is online that is. In the real world he is no idiot though. He buys all his computer parts separately and with cash so that he can’t be tracked. There is no way the government knows his IP address. His work, his fun, in fact his entire life is done online and the last thing he needs is the government looking in on what he is doing. Unlike his friends who live in cabins like hermits, “Falco” as he likes to be called lives in the city. Out in the woods you are one person for every five square miles, but here he is one of millions! The men in black can’t sneak up on him from the safety of the woods on his own property. Nope, here he can see them coming. Plus he can cache his stuff for escape nearby without any worries of discovery. Wisely he shops at night. The area he lives is well lit and the satellites that track over cities at night use mostly infrared and the lights near the hospitals cause flares so they can’t see him. He is happily snacking on the cake and creamy goodness that is a Twinkie when his worst nightmare unfolds in front of him. They were right, the black helicopters would come when he least expected it. He is surprised that the government figured out a way around the tangles of the power lines in this busy part of town. They used the innocent hospital landing pads to insert their storm troopers. The first group fast ropes down lines dropped from the choppers and the moves out of the way for the next one to land. It is well rehearsed and swiftly carried out. Somehow they must have been able to track his blogs and they know he is on to them. He alone has the proof that Dick Cheney staged the terrorist attacks on 9-11 to get at the gold underneath the towers and eliminate his rivals at the pentagon. If it weren’t for the Patriots aboard the other flight, he would have gotten away with taking out most of the reporters of the Washington post (his nefarious next target.) When he sees the soldiers running up the street towards his apartment building he drops his groceries and hails the next taxi. Another benefit of staying so close to hospitals. He has the driver speed to a nearby parking garage, and as he watches the skies, he can see another helicopter circling, most likely looking for him. Once in the parking structure it takes all the money he has to convince the driver to take him to the airport, but with him in the trunk. That way “the man” will think that he is in the next car to leave the parking garage. The driver lets him out of the trunk in the long term parking where he has a car waiting. He makes sure that there is still a “clean” laptop and a bag of clothes. Where his spare tire should be is a stash of cash and a fresh identity. Unfortunately Lord Falco will have to die. He may have to use his “norm” name until he is able to find a new network. As he starts up the car he checks under his seat for the pistol and makes sure it has a bullet in it. If they try and capture him he wants to make sure he has it handy. One bullet is all he has, and one bullet is all he needs. They are making good time, unlike the smaller Blackhawks the large twin rotor Chinooks cannot land on the helicopter pads on the hospital. As directed they dropped off the 28 Rangers in a field and they had to run the half mile to secure the perimeter. They might be a little winded, but moving at a full run with gear on would take a lot out of anyone. However they are members of the elite Ranger Battalion. If any of them fall behind, they can expect to be wearing a new unit patch Monday morning. Staff Sergeant Todd notices that they collect some curious stares from most people as they pass by. Armed men running the streets is something you don’t see everyday. But since they are in uniform and running in a file formation the natural assumption is that things are okay. So while there is no panic, there are some interesting reactions. One guy tosses the drugs out of his pocket and places his hands against a nearby wall spreading his legs. Todd just tells him to report to the nearest police station without losing a step. He doesn’t care if the guy does or not, but it is a funny story he will tell later. He does make sure he stomps on the man’s drugs as he passes. The best reaction by far is the fat guy who squealed like a little girl, dropped his bags and waddled into the nearest cab. Todd watched the half eaten Twinkie drop from his mouth as he freaked out. He doesn’t know why he had the reaction, but there has got to be a good story behind it. As soon as they reach the front of the hospital, they see CSM Roc standing there waiting. There will be an asschewing to come if he had to wait long. It will not matter that one landed on the roof and rode an elevator down and the other had to run in. No Sergeant Major is ever left waiting. Without waiting for instructions, the men form a semi circle around the entrance. The squad leaders go to the middle and wait for orders. The Sergeant Major looks around and smiles, if this is going to be his last chance at leadership, he is happy that he gets to lead this caliber of men. One Blackhawk continues to circle with the sniper teams on it waiting for where they are to be employed. This is the hardest part, circling and waiting. The sooner you get in place, the sooner you can start doing the bad things to the bad guys. You can’t do anything up here doing a circle jerk in the air. Specialist Chong takes off the surgical mask to give CSM Roc an update. While it can be difficult to remember every single soldier in the Battalion, he remembers this young man. When he was a private the recon platoon requested a medic, but he didn’t have any with Ranger tabs as they requested. So they got the most high speed medic in the battalion, Recon isn’t an easy platoon and you need someone who can keep up. Private First Class Chong was the only one who could. He proved himself beyond expectations, but still the Platoon Sergeant brought him in front of Roc complaining that he didn’t want an untabbed medic in his platoon. Chong was crushed; he though he had earned the respect of the platoon, to satisfy the Platoon Sergeant, Chong was on his way to Ranger school the next day. It he was the only medic to be recommended for Ranger School that year, and he eared his spot. The whole recon platoon insisted on it. “He is out of surgery,” he says clearly tired, “three of Delta Company guys who were in town are outside his recovery room right now. He lost consciousness as he was being prepped for surgery and most likely will not wake up for a while.” “They pulled two bullets out of him and he lost a lot of blood. If he would have gotten here five minutes later, he would not have made it. That is about all the good news that I have.” “Give me the bad,” Roc orders. “He has some blood on his shirt that does not correspond to an injury and they had to remove a few pellets from his left arm.” “What does that mean?” “Most likely that there is someone out there with a shotgun wound. He was nearby when they were shot and tried to help which is where the other blood comes from. So either there is a civilian out there who is some serious trouble, or there is another wounded Ranger.” That thought fills Sergeant Major with dread. If there is another one of his soldiers out there, he will find him before sunrise. Even if he has to turn over the entire city to do it. Within a half hour Harborview Medical Center becomes the most secure facility in the city. There are uniformed Rangers in the parking lot ensuring good traffic flow and watching for suspicious activity. There are Rangers in civilian clothes sprinkled throughout the place; the ones with injuries are in the halls and blending in the ER. This is the first time in years that there hasn’t been people sneaking a smoke in the stairwell. With Rangers strategically placed, no one lingers too long. Finally the Blackhawk stops circling overhead and teams are deployed on the rooftops. The teams are happy to finally be out and in place in case any action happens. While the city sleeps, Rangers maneuver all around the area. By the time people are going to work, there is an invisible force ready for anything. Which is good, because something is going to happen…….very soon. Teams are in place, the area is secure, and the staff is assured that this is not going disrupt their daily routine. In the short time the Rangers are there, the place actually runs smoother than the normal chaos. Just as he finishes the radio checks and steps outside to get some fresh air before planning the next step, Sergeant Major Roc sees a familiar vehicle pull up into the loading zone. Colonel’s Knights truck is hard to miss. He has an old Chevy Bronco, it has to be at least 15 years old. It has that deep throaty engine and huge tires. It is clear that it has seen more mud trails than asphalt in its life. And carried more than its fair share of deer out of the woods. “You know you can’t park here,” Roc says to his commander as he climbs down. Smiling he responds, “I’ll find someone to move it later.” Colonel Knight is the only one in a pressed camouflage uniform. He knows that he is going to be the face on this, and wants to look presentable for meetings with the local police and government officials. Right now he wants to have the impression of being a tactical leader. When the time comes, he has his dress uniform in the back of his truck. When he left the unit after giving his officers a way out, he drove his car back to his house. Got his uniforms and personal weapons, threw them in the back of his Bronco and drove to the city. “I gave you an out Sir,” Roc says respectfully, “you should have taken it.” “Fuck you.” Knight states flatly. Gaining newfound respect for the guy Roc replies, “you wouldn’t like it Sir, I would just lie there.” There is some comfort in knowing that you will have others with you at your court-martial. “How many officers left?” “We lost a few lieutenants, Delta’s company commander and the XO. Alpha stayed 100%. No one took the lifeline.” The Executive Officer, or XO, has always been suspected of being a shady bastard. Knight knows that he is hoping that the SGM and CO will be relieved and he will get command. Of course that will never happen. In the Ranger Regiment you are not rewarded by stepping away from risk. “If any of them are still assigned to the Ranger Battalion Monday morning, you won’t be Sergeant Major.” It isn’t a threat, it is the gospel. And with that, the Commander walks off to check on his men inside. When the doors open, the mood changes, here is the Commander! He is here to personally lead, taking risk upon himself but mainly he is directing any blame his way. Now no one is going to be the one to drop the ball. Inspired, every position, observation post and sniper team is inspired to tighten their shot group and they feel invigorated in the early morning hours. They have been keeping the man in the room for a few hours now. Of course he wasn’t going to talk in the first hour. He needed to be “encouraged” to tell them what they want to know. He will break, they always do. Of course it is getting a little hot inside the masks. And for a while their prisoner hasn’t been too active, he remains slumped over repeating the same thing over and over. This part sounds like: “Acknowledging the fact that a Ranger is a more elite soldier, who arrives at the cutting edge of battle by land, sea, or air. I accept the fact that as a Ranger my country expects me to move further, faster and fight harder than any other soldier.” Before he can get to the next part, one of their group bursts into the room. “One of them survived and is in the hospital.” Everyone shares a collected thought. If that guy talks, they all are in trouble. No one knows how much he saw or knows, but it isn’t worth the risk. He was taken to a trauma hospital that is second to none in the state. There is usually enough chaos in those places that a few guys can slip in and out without too much trouble. Quickly four men are selected and sent out. Had they known what was waiting for them, they would have said more lasting goodbyes. Then again if they really knew what was waiting, they wouldn’t have gone. There is that moment when you set up an ambush where you are so excited that it is happening, you almost blow it. First you have doubts that anything is going to happen, then when it looks like things are going your way, you want to jump at the chance before your target can get away. The hardest part is having the discipline not to do anything at all, but to let them get farther into the trap. That is exactly what most of the Rangers have to do. First there is the team on a rooftop half a block away that reported the car dropping off one passenger who then runs into a hospital entrance that has less traffic in and out. He passes near the ER where Sergeant Jordan is invisible among the other patients with casts and slings. He confirms the sighting and lets the guy get deeper into the trap. Of course he is just a scout, and they want the whole group. He finds the entrance that leads into the alley and opens the door. One of the guys waiting outside hands him a sawed off shotgun and they head up the back stairs. They try to be stealthy but their footfalls echo in the empty stairwell. Fortunately they know where they are going and will be in and out in a few minutes. Nothing creates chaos like gunfire. All they have to do it dump the guns into one of the red buckets that are used for biohazards and run out with the crowds. The car is going to circle and pick them up at the arranged site. One of the problems with being the get away driver is that you tend to get focused on the getaway and lose sight of the peripherals. For example you are so intent on watching the door your friends are supposed to come out of that you don’t notice the four Rangers sneaking up on you. Usually get way drivers don’t leave the cars running, for fear it will look suspicious, however it is good to be able to peel out and get away. So when he sees the men moving through the shadows and he tries to start the car, his window explodes inward and a barrel is shoved in his place. If he would have been ready he could have just pushed on the accelerator, but alas it is not to be. He is yanked out, searched, bound with zip-ties, and shoved in the trunk of his own car. Part of the team rides with him, the rest return to the OP. Suddenly he feels empathy for the man in the little room. Unfortunately, some things you can’t undo. Exiting the stairwell suddenly they rush through the halls. This is the point where they are exposed, but also when they can do the most collateral damage. Most people will not be sure of what they are seeing, they will wonder if they really see men with guns. Those that don’t see it out of the corner of their eyes will usually either freeze or hit the ground. Either one will do. Naturally anyone who freezes in their way will be knocked down, but that is the risk they take. This is step one in the chaos. After the shooting starts, everyone will be running every which way. If you no longer have the guns in hand, they won’t be able to remember who was shooting and who wasn’t. By the time anyone figures it out they will be long gone. When they round the corner they find the first of a few surprises of the night, or for a couple the last surprises of their lives. “Hi,” Wendy says in a chipper voice. They hit a bottle neck in the doorway, there are things they were expecting to see, but a smiling, good looking girl was not one of them. She seems remarkably relaxed for the given situation. Her hands are clearly visible and not threatening. Slowly she raises them and only has a keychain in one of them. As she raises her hands, she eases to the head of the bed next to the still unconscious solider and slides her body as close to the wall as possible. If Chong wanted a ride to the hospital, she was going to have to drive him, and if she was driving she wanted to know what was going on. Wendy knows that someday she will be Wendy Chong and she knows what to expect from the life of the Ranger wife. They couldn’t talk her out of doing this. Someone is going to have to stay in the room and the nurses won’t bother a woman as much as a man, especially if the only relationship is that of a fellow soldier. She was given a simple keyless remote. The lock button arms it, the unlock disarms it. But all she had to worry about was get out of the way, and push the panic button. The rest would be taken care of. What she didn’t understand is why they told her not to close her mouth after pushing it. For the two guys who are inside the room, practically stepping over each other, time seems to slow down. They have their guns raised and not really caring why the girl is in the room. But she closes her eyes, yet keeps her mouth open. It is the “beep, beep” coming from the window that draws their attention. Anything too sudden might make them pull the trigger in surprise, but the sounds draws their attention right before the windows shatter from a small shaped charge on the outside ledge. Now everything starts to come together, when they got the call the men on the roof checked their ropes. “Oz” is visibly excited. His nickname doesn’t come from a compression of his last name “Oswald” it is because he likes to rappel “Aussie” style, which means head first. Plus like the people from Down Under, he is more than a little crazy. He pulls out he thinks is the right amount of rope and starts walking back. Right before the explosives go off, they glow green. One guy is leaning over the side and as soon as he see the glow yells, “Green light!” With that Oz takes a running start and leaps over the edge into the night air. His “Ranger Buddy” or rappelling partner just rolls his eyes and starts down the side at a swift, but manageable speed. Across the street the SSG Isler has been watching the men enter the room through his Leopold scope. His spotter sets down the binos and pulls up his silenced M4. Isler has a M14 with a suppressor. Knowing that this would be urban, Isler made sure he brought the silenced rifles. No need to wake up the neighbors with loud rifles. Not that this is something new, they are part of the Long Range Recon Platoon, LRRPS were almost done away with, but COL Knight kept a platoon around for the Headquarters company. Just because the Army didn’t know their full potiential doesn’t mean he couldn’t keep a platoon for himself. Stealth is greatest asset of the LRRP. When the word came over the net that they had targets inbound, Isler started to take slow controlled breaths. Every time he hears “snipers free” on the radio his heart skips a beat. This time is different, this time he knows he hearts starts to race. That is because this time he isn’t going to be scanning for targets, he knows exactly where they re going to be, and he knows that this time he will be taking a shot. They are going to have a very short window when they can shoot or the outcome could be catastrophic. Snipers prefer to take the shot at the time of their choosing, but he is a Ranger and this is how it has to be done. Just as the men enter the room, his takes a pause in his breathing. As soon as they see the green light, both sniper and spotter shoot. In the half second it takes for the 7.62 and 5.56 bullets to cross the distance from barrel to target, the window shatters. Their sights filled with the two men. One shot left, the other right. Oz can actually see the vapor trails of the bullets below him that pass as he continues his almost freefall decent. He is still a few feet from the window when the line goes taut. His rappel harness squeaks as it stretches from the strain, but doesn’t give. Just a quick jerk and he lets off the brake long enough to lower him the last meter and as he swings into the room he turs himself rights side up. As soon as his feet hit floor, his pistol is out and he is covering the room. His partner is not far behind. The two in the hall run at the first sign of the red mist that was their friend’s chest. Panic isn’t a rational act by the mind or body. They don’t get three steps before they are taken down by the “patients” who were sitting outside in the hall. One of the orderlies pulls out a pistol from under his scrubs and covers the two would be assassins. It is then that they see that most everyone in the immediate vicinity is here to protect their target. Soldiers from the medic platoon are sprinkled throughout the floor. They even try and help out the nurses on duty. While it is seen as a kind act, they are really just hoping for some play when this is all over. As soon as Oz detaches himself from his rig he and his partner grab the two who are restrained in the hall and drag them to their feet. They hustle them up stair and onto the roof. The last thing they get to see before the bags go over their heads is the Blackhawk flaring into a landing, ready to take them away. The pilot has the perfect porn mustache and take a sip from the metal spill proof cup in those brief seconds they are on the roof. Where, they are going they can’t imagine but there is no way it will be good. The same reasons why the Rangers are going through such extremes for their comrades is explained in the first sentence of the mutterings of a slumped over Ranger captive. If only they would listen they would understand as he speaks: “Never shall I fail my comrades. I will always keep myself mentally alert, physically strong and morally straight and I will shoulder more than my share of the task whatever it may be. One hundred percent and then some.”