Echo Platoon (42 page)

I didn’t waste a millisecond. I started my sucker punch in the balls of my feet, let it build in my calves, thighs, and gut, felt it roll through my chest, shoulders, and right arm until I caught the big, ugly Ivan with a tsunami-size punch, right in his throat.

He went down like the shitload he was. I told you a few pages back that I don’t trust Ivans. And Oleg Lapinov was the personification of why I don’t.

But there’s no time to ruminate about that now, because he is a strong motherfucker and he was already pulling himself to his feet, murder in his eyes. I kicked him in the head to keep him on the deck, but he rolled away just ahead of the blow, and scrambled to his knees, his face Commie-flag red, his eyes crossed in pain.

That was all the time I needed. I clapped him across the ears. His head snapped back. But he still managed to deliver a single punch, his big fist catching me right in the nuts.

Oh, that
hurt
. It took the wind right out of my sails. Instinctively, I bent forward. Which is when he hit me again. This was getting tiresome.

“Roll right, Boss Dude, roll right—” That was Boomerang’s voice shouting through the ringing in my ears. I threw myself to starboard, catching a big Russkie foot on the side of my bad knee as I did. But I kept going, rolling, scrambling, clawing my way past Oleg’s churning extremities.

And once I’d cleared far enough to give them a clear shot, Boomerang and Rotten Randy, who’d positioned themselves at right angles to Oleg, shot the sumbitch. They put enough rounds in his head to shut him down for good, and left Ivan brains all over the fucking chopper pad in the process.

I looked over at the bloody Rorschach pattern on the concrete, and told them, “Great fucking work.” And it
was
great work, even though all you folks out there were probably waiting for me to do the deed myself.

Well, live and learn, tadpoles: only under Hollywood’s stupid rules does the Big Hero have to kill the Big Villain at the end of the book. In real life, he who can take the shot had better take the shot, or the Big Hero’s gonna get whacked and the Big Villain’s gonna walk away unscathed.

But not today. And not in
this
book. I rolled Oleg’s body over, and retrieved his radio transmitter—the one that he would have used to blow the Dauphin out of the sky. And then, we started crawling over the chopper like locusts until we found and disassembled the bomb made of half a pound of Semtex explosive he’d stowed in the oil cooler fan compartment. Oleg had done his homework: it wasn’t a place you’d normally include in the ol’ preflight check.

I had to admit—somewhat ruefully—that Oleg had done his homework about me, too. Why? Because he’d manufactured a scenario requiring exactly the sort of KISS operation I like to pull off. I mean, the kidnapping
almost
made perfect sense—the precise thing you want for one of these smoke-and-mirrors ops. And Oleg, being an operator, knew how to suck me in. He gave me the plot, he set the clock ticking, and then he let my Warrior instincts take over from there.

Well, I wasn’t the only one he’d fooled. He’d made Ashley believe his story, too. And Ashley was about as easy to convince as
moi
. But that was the genius of his op. I mean, it was conceivable that Steve
Sarkesian might have actually kidnapped Marybeth Madison. But the more I thought about what had just happened, the more I understood that the trio of intercepts Oleg had showed me had all been fakes. The kind of
dezinformatsia
the Soviets used to call “Active Measures,” which is black information, made plausible by grains of truth planted within, and set into a believable context. Info land mines. The Sovs had been effective practitioners of
dezinformatsia
during the Cold War. And Oleg Lapinov hadn’t lost the talent more than a decade later.

Besides, my guys hadn’t found any explosives or the accoutrements thereof, in Steve’s effects, his bodyguards’ luggage—or anywhere in the hotel, or the hangar, for that matter. No. It was Oleg who’d wanted to blow Ambassador Madison’s chopper out of the sky, because by doing so, he could rid himself of two adversaries: Ambassador Madison, and me.

But only after he’d used me to kill his double agent.

There was a kind of warped genius to his plan—because he’d built it around my Roguish personality, and my tendency to operate UNODIR. Once my men and I were corpses, he could claim that I’d jumped the gun again, just as I had when I’d burgled Sarkesian’s office. He’d tell Washington I’d gone Rogue and killed Steve Sarkesian on my own, but fallen victim to Steve’s preplanned hit on Ambassador Madison.

And if the scenario played itself out true to form, the American oil companies would reassess the situation, and the United States would downsize its relationship to Baku. Which would leave Oleg the last man standing. And Moscow would once again roll across the border, shut out the Iranians, and dominate Azerbaijan—and the rest of the Caucasus, too.

Is that confusing enough for you? It was certainly confusing enough for me. In fact, God save me from geopolitics—and the practitioners thereof. I’m happiest waxing tangos, sucking down a few cold brewskis, sipping some Bombay Sapphire, and taking a long, long soak between warm thighs every now and then. And since I’d just had my fill of waxing tangos, the other three sounded pretty fuckin’ good.

1055. Time was getting tight. I looked over at Oleg’s corpse. He was proof that, despite what the old Azeri adage says, the enemy of your enemy ain’t always your friend. Well, I’d let the fucking Russians find him and puzzle things out for themselves. Me, I was gonna have a hell of a time explaining this little episode to the Chairman. But that would come later—after the brewskis, and the Bombay, and the long, long soak. I windmilled my right index finger, sending everyone toward the chopper. Oh yes, it was way past time to head for home.

A
2
:
aforementioned asshole.

A
3
:
Anytime, Anyplace, Anywhere.

Admirals’ Gestapo:
what the secretary of defense’s office calls the Naval Investigative Services Command. See:
SHIT-FOR-BRAINS
.

AK-47:
7.63 × 39mm Kalashnikov automatic rifle. The most common assault weapon in the world.

APOC:
A Piece Of Cake.

AVCNO:
Assistant Vice Chief of Naval Operations.

Bandity:
(Russian) Police slang for hoodlums.

BAW:
Big Asshole Windbag.

BDUs
: Battle Dress Uniforms. Now that’s an oxymoron.

BFD:
Big Fuckin’ Deal.

BFH:
Big Fuckin’ Help.

BIQ:
Bitch-In-Question.

BJB:
Leader of the Free World.

BOHICA:
Bend Over—Here It Comes Again!

BTDT:
Been There, Done That.

BUPERS:
Naval BUreau of PERSonnel.

BUWEPS:
Naval BUreau of WEaPonS.

C-130:
Lockheed’s ubiquitous Hercules.

C-141:
Lockheed’s ubiquitous StarLifter aircraft, soon to be mothballed.

C-4:
plastic explosive. You can mold it like clay. You can even use it to light your fires. Just don’t stamp on it.

C
2
CO:
Can’t Cunt Commanding Officer. Too many of these in Navy SpecWar today. They won’t support their men or take chances because they’re afraid it’ll ruin their chances for promotion.

CALOW:
Coastal And Limited-Objective Warfare. Very fashionable acronym at the Pentagon in these days of increased low-intensity conflict.

cannon fodder:
See
FNG
.

Christians in Action:
SpecWar slang for the Central Intelligence Agency.

CINC:
Commander-IN-Chief.

CINCUSNAVEUR:
Commander IN Chief, U.S. Naval forces, EURope.

clusterfuck:
See:
FUBAR

CNO:
Chief of Naval Operations.

cockbreath:
SEAL term of endearment used for those who pay only lip service. See:
SAP/BJ
.

CONUS:
CONtinental United States.

CQC:
Close Quarters Combat—i.e., killing that’s up close and personal.

CT:
CounterTerrorism.

DADT:
Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.

DEA:
Drug Enforcement Administration.

DEFCON:
DEFense CONdition.

DEVGRP:
Naval Special Warfare DEVelopment GRouP. Current U.S. Navy appellation for SEAL Team Six.

detasheet:
olive-drab, ten-by-twenty-inch flexible PETN-based plastic explosive used as a cutting or breaching charge.

DIA:
Defense Intelligence Agency. Spook heaven based in Arlington, Virginia, and Bolling Air Force Base.

Diplo-dink:
no-load fudge-cutting, cookie-pushing diplomat.

DIPSEC:
DIPlomatic SECurity. SEAL shorthand for the Diplomatic Security Service, the Department of State’s special agent shoot-and-looters.

Dipshit:
can’t cunt numb-nutted pencil-dicked asshole.

DIQ
(pronounced
dik,
except in France, where it’s pronounced
deek
): Document-In-Question. You can have sensitive DIQs, big, thick DIQs, or even tiny, penciled DIQs. But if you drop your DIQ into a puddle of water, you’ll end up with a limp DIQ.

Do-ma-nhieu
(Vietnamese): Go fuck yourself. See:
DOOM ON YOU
.

doom on you:
American version of Vietnamese phonetic for
go fuck yourself.

dweeb:
no-load shit-for-brains geeky asshole, usually shackled to a computer.

EC-130:
Electronic warfare–outfitted C-130.

EEI:
Essential Element of Information. The info-nuggets on which a mission is planned and executed.

EEO:
Equal Employment Opportunity. (The Rogue Warrior
®
always treats ’em all alike—just like shit.)

ELINT:
ELectronic INTelligence.

EOD:
Explosive Ordnance Disposal.

flashbang:
disorientation device used by hostage rescue teams.

FLFC:
Fucking Loud and Fucking Clear.

FLIR:
Forward Looking InfraRed.

FNG:
Fucking New Guy. See:
CANNON FODDER
.

Four-striper:
Captain. All too often, a C
2
CO.

frags:
fragmentation grenades.

FUBAR:
Fucked Up Beyond All Repair.

Glock:
Reliable 9-mm pistols made by Glock in Austria. They’re great for SEALs because they don’t require as much care as Sig Sauers.

GNBN:
Good News/Bad News.

goatfuck:
What the Navy likes to do to the Rogue Warrior. See:
FUBAR
.

GSG-9:
Grenzschutzgruppe-9. Top German CT unit.

HAHO:
High-Altitude, High-Opening parachute jump.

HALO:
High-Altitude, Low-Opening parachute jump.

HICs:
Head-In-Cement syndrome. Condition common to high-ranking officers. Symptoms include pigheadedness and inability to change opinions when presented with new information.

HK:
ultrareliable pistol, assault rifle, or submachine gun made by Heckler & Koch, a firm based in Oberndorf, Germany. SEALs use H&K MP5 sub-machine guns in various configurations, as well as P7 9-mm, and USP 9-mm, .40- or .45-caliber pistols.

HKTB:
Hot Knife Through Butter.

HUMINT:
HUMan INTelligence.

humongous:
Marcinko dick.

Hydra-Shok:
extremely lethal hollowpoint ammunition manufactured by Federal Cartridge Company.

IBS:
Inflatable Boat, Small—the basic unit of SEAL transportation.

IED:
Improvised Explosive Device.

Japs:
bad guys.

Jarheads:
Marines. The Corps. Formally, USMC (Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children).

JSOC:
Joint Special Operations Command.

KATN:
Kick Ass and Take Names. Roguish avocation.

KH:
KeyHole. Designation for NRO’s spy-in-the-sky satellites, as in KH-12s.

KISS:
Keep It Simple, Stupid. The basic premise for all special operations.

KTFM:
Keep The Fuck Moving.

klik:
One kilometer, equaling six-tenths of a mile.

Kuz emeq
(Arabic): Roguespeak for “Up your mother’s cunt.”

LANTFLT:
atLANTic FLeeT.

LBFM:
Little Brown Fucking Machine.

LTWS:
Lower Than Whale Shit.

M
3
:
Massively motivated motherfuckers.

M-16:
Basic U.S. .223-caliber weapon, used by the armed forces.

Mark-I Mod-0:
basic unit.

MILCRAFT:
Pentagonese for MILitary airCRAFT.

Mossad
(Short form of
Ha-Mossad hamerkazi Lemodi’in Vetafkidim Meychadim,
or Central Institute for Intelligence and Special Tasks): Israeli spy service. Not as good as it used to be.

MOTI:
Russian Ministry of the Interior.

NAVAIR:
NAVy AIR Command.

NAVSEA:
NAVy SEA Command.

NAVSPECWARGRU:
NAVal SPECial WARfare GRoUp.

Navyspeak:
redundant, bureaucratic naval nomenclature, either in written nonoral or nonwritten oral modes, indecipherable by nonmilitary (conventional) or military (unconventional) individuals
during normal interfacing configuration conformations.