More Than Courage (26 page)

The room the Syrians whisked Kannen into was both well lit and quite clean in comparison to what he had managed to see of the rest of the prison. His eyes were immediately drawn to the right where he saw a simple, straight-back chair set against a wall that looked as though it had been freshly whitewashed. A pair of floodlights stood several feet back and away from the white wall.

Both were angled so that their beams fell on the chair. Without pausing, the Syrians dragged Kannen over to the chair, twisted him aroud, and shoved him down onto it with more force than was necessary.

Though still somewhat dazed, Kannen used the little time he had to look around as his escorts left the room and the interrogation team stepped forward to take over. Having only felt the tools that his interrogators had used, the American NCO was anxious MORE THAN COURAGE

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to see what the damned things looked like. To his surprise, rather than spying a table cluttered with medieval torture devices, he saw a Syrian soldier fussing with a modern video camera set upon a dolly. In an instant Kanncn's mind cleared as he realized what this was all about. The Syrians were going to use him to embarrass the United States employing the same techniques that the North Koreans and Vietnamese communists had pioneered decades before.

With the object of this little excursion now established, Kannen knew what he had to do. Regardless of the cost he would have to do whatever he could to demonstrate that though he was bloodied, he was not broken. An unmistakable display of defiance was what he would have to present to the camera. Even if all he could use was his expression or the look in his eyes, Kannen was hell-bent on making a statement that even the densest TV commentator back in the United States could not miss.

As if he had read the American's mind, a Syrian colonel who had been standing in the shadows behind the floodlights stepped forward until he stood before Kannen. Using the King's English, the colonel briefed Kannen on what he expected. "Sergeant First Class Allen Kannen, once all is ready you will look straight into the lens of the camera and give your name, your rank, the branch of service to which you belong, and your hometown. Nothing more. These are things which we already know so there will be no shame in presenting them to us here in this forum. I am not going to ask you to betray any military secrets or read any sort of statement. Is that clear?"

Kannen looked up at the Syrian colonel. The urge to tell him to piss off was all but overpowering. But Kannen managed to hold his tongue He figured he had but one chance to get it right.

It would be best if he saved that opportunity for a time when it Would be more meaningful. Though he had little doubt that Whatever he did or said would ultimately be edited out and never See the light of day, the American NCO was determined to com

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municatc as best he could his determination to stay true to his code of conduct and his comrades.

After waiting several seconds for some sort of response but receiving none, the Syrian colonel smiled. "I am not disappointed.

I rather expected this." Without breaking eye contact, the Syrian raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.

On cue a pair of guards who had been waiting in the corridor outside hauled a limp body into the room and across the Hour.

With a great deal of effort they maneuvered their burden until they could place it on another straight-backed chair sitting against the wall opposite Kannen. Squinting in an effort to see past the glare of the floodlights, he managed to focus on the figure in the chair.

Though the blindfold covered most of the face, and the head hung down until the chin almost rested on his chest, there was no mistaking that the bloodied and beaten person seated across from him was his commanding officer, Captain Burman. It was the first time Kannen had seen Burman since they'd been loaded on separate trucks to be brought to Damascus.

Their duty done, the pair who had hauled Burman into the room left. Once they were gone a junior officer next came up to Burman. With a great deal more precision than any of his subordinates had shown, the Syrian officer drew his pistol, jerked the slide back, and released it. With a round clearly chambered, the junior officer laid the muzzle of its barrel against Burman's head.

When he wras satisfied that all was set, the Syrian colonel looked back at Kannen. "I hope I do not have to explain to you.

what will happen if you elect not to cooperate with my simple demands and instead attempt to play the hero in front of the camera."

Soldiers die in battle. Kannen understood that cruel yet simple premise. Death was a natural and inescapable part of a profession whose basic object has always been to destroy one's enemy as quickly and as efficiently as possible. This, however, was not battle,

at least not the sort of battle that he was prepared to engage 1

^m'[

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in. If Burman had died during the melee back at the village it would have been tragic but acceptable to Kannen. To have Burnian die as a direct result of something he did or failed to do was something else. Even if he could manage to rationalize his defiance by buying in to the premise that he, Burman, and all the Kilo members in the ccllblock were more than likely dead men, Kannen knew that he could not allow himself to be the agent of a teammate's death. RT Kilo had started out as a team and had, as best he could tell, remained one through it all. He was not about to change that now by becoming the agent of his CO's murder, even if this meant compromising his personal honor. At least, he told himself as he prepared to endure the unendurable, he'd take the responsibility of being the first cfae to cooperate. Perhaps the people back home would understand. Perhaps they would show him the sort of mercy that his captors were incapable of.

Unable to hold back his rage but still very much in control, Kannen looked away from Burman's pathetic figure and back at the Syrian colonel. "You flicking bastard."

The colonel smiled. "I will take that as your consent to my simple request. Good." Turning, the Syrian colonel looked over to where the cameraman stood ready. With a snap of his fingers the Syrian technician rolled the device into place and prepared to start filming as the colonel stepped out of the line of sight so that Kannen would have an unobstructed view of his captain throughout the entire session.

Fort Irwin, California

04:58 LOCAL (11:58 ZULU)

On the ground the distance from the airfield at Bicycle Lake to the mock-up of the Syrian airfield in the northern portion of Fort Irwin was a little over fifteen kilometers. It was where all major live-fire training was conducted. It Was also the least accessible portion of the training facility, connected to the outside world by roads that would have made a goat homesick. Since the series of training exercises being run by the Rangers would eventually culminate in full-scale live-fire rehearsals, this choice of location for the mock-up, officially designated Objective Kansas, was unpopular.

After seeing it for the first time following a truck ride that entailed an overland trek approaching biblical proportions, the Rangers charged with securing Kansas rechristened it Dust Bowl International, or DBI for short.

By air the journey took no time at all. In fact, the hop from Bicycle Lake to Kansas was so quick that Air Force transports sometimes passed over Objective Kansas during takeoff. When the training to seize Kansas reached the point where the airborne portion of the operation was included, most of the time spent aloft was needed to reach altitude, come about, and form up for the drop. During these exercises, the Rangers who were crowded into the cargo bays of the C-130s had very little time to mentally

gear themselves up for the jump. As exciting as that experience c^n be, it was only the prelude to a tactical exercise that every man

Ui the 3rd of the 75th suspected would be part of an effort to rescue their fellow soldiers in Syria.

On this night the battalion sergeant major spent his time dur 206

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ing the brief interlude between the time he settled into their nylon jump seats and the order to stand up studying his commanding officer. Seated across from Lieutenant Colonel Harry Shaddock, Sergeant Major John Harris was struck by the tight, almost strained expression his colonel wore. The easygoing, almost jovial demeanor that Shack normally sported just prior to a jump was totally absent. Instead of leaning forward and kibitzing with every enlisted men who could hear him above the roar of the transport's engines, the colonel was slumped down low in his seat. Lost in his own thoughts, he remained silent throughout the entire flight with his arms folded tightly against his chest over the reserve parachute that regulations required but which their chosen altitude of exit rendered useless.

Now, Harris was no fool. He was well aware of what was at stake. He understood the pressure that his commanding officer, the staff, and all the company commanders within the battalion were under. When Shaddock was not out in the field overseeing a tactical training exercise he was in the office poring over estimates generated by his staff or locked away in highly classified briefings or on the phone with any number of higher-ranking officers from every major command and agency that had or thought they had a role in Fanfare, the name given to the operation that was supposed to free the Green Berets being held in Syria. That the battalion was being rushed to prepare itself for its role in Fanfare went without saying. This sort of thing was not at all unusual for the 3rd of the 75th. It was the nature of the beast for a unit like the 3rd of the 75th. They were expected to train flat out month after month in order to maintain peak combat readiness. Then, when something like Fanfare came their way, they were required to redouble their efforts. Those who could not maintain that sort of pace either never got on to the merry-go-round in the first place or were quickly thrown off either by the staggering tempo or by an uncompromising commanding officer like Harry Shaddock.

Having served with the colonel in this assignment and several others during the course of his long military career, Harris knew 1

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that Shaddock's behavior as of late was not due to the long hours he was putting in. Like most of the men he surrounded himself with, Shaddock thrived in this sort of atmosphere. Nor had Harris been able to detect even a hint that his commanding officer had any reservations about the role his battalion would play in Fanfare. While Shaddock would like to see some changes to the manner in which his battalion was being employed, he had stated on numerous occasions to both his superiors and the men in his command that once they were given the word, the 3rd of the 75th would be ready to execute their assigned tasks.

It was this unexplained contradiction in his commanding officer's attitude that concerned Harris. In public Shaddock continued to be as unflappable and Hard charging as ever. Yet at moments like this it was clear to the sergeant major that the man he had grown to admire and into whose hands he placed his life was holding something back. Since Shaddock was the commanding officer and therefore responsible for everything that his unit did or failed to do, Harris figured that the colonel would, in his own time, sort out whatever it was that was responsible for his current mood. Until then the best Harris figured he could do was to fend off all the trivial matters that often consume so much of a commanding officer's time, and when the occasion afforded itself, do what he could to lighten the mood.

With this in mind he slid his booted foot across the floor of the transport and tapped the toe of his colonel's boot. When Shaddock opened his eyes and looked over at Harris the sergeant major shouted across the narrow space between them in order to be heard over the transport's engines. "I was reading the XO's copy of the Armed Forces Journal last night. It contained its annual article on how the day of large-scale airborne operations is over. It seems we're an anachronism and what we're about to do

!s not only militarily inadvisable but potentially dangerous."

Despite the dark thoughts that were troubling him, Shaddock laughed. "Do me a favor, Sergeant Major, and don't let the SThree see it. I think he'll faint if he hears someone even hinted 208

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that there's the chance that there's another change to his plan in the offing."

Having achieved an opening, Harris decided to take an opportunity to do a bit of prying. "Sir, Major Montoya wouldn't be happy unless he was running around threatening to slit his wrists." Then, pausing, Harris lowered his voice. "That's to be expected. What's worrying me is you."

In a manner akin to Lord Nelson's habit of turning his blind eye to read the signals from the fleet flagship, Shaddock tended to pretend not to hear statements that he had no intention of responding to. Turning his head slightly to the side, Shaddock raised one hand and cupped it over his right ear, which everyone in the battalion knew was partially deaf. Taking the hint, Harris sighed. With a wave, he indicated that his point was unimportant.

Satisfied that he had successfully fended off the sergeant major's effort to distract him, Shaddock returned to his own troubling concerns. His thoughts had nothing to do with the exercise that his unit was about to participate in. He wasn't even worried about the plan that his operations officer had ginned up.

Nor was he in any doubt that his company commanders, despite a few persistent glitches, would eventually get it right. What was troubling the commanding officer of one of the nation's most highly skilled combat commands was the role his unit was to play in freeing the members of RT Kilo who were still in Syrian hands.

Having made his mark in the Army by being a straight shooter regardless of the professional risk that such an attitude entailed in the modern American military, Shaddock found it all but impossible to maintain his enthusiasm for Fanfare. In the next fifteen minutes his entire unit would be deposited over Objective Kansas.