Chapter 37

General Mikelsen, Mike Hawthorne, Tib Tibbets, Chuck Briggs, Berl'ahan, and John Evans, force commander of the new Southern Hemisphere Operations Squadron of Interdictors concluded a lengthy special operations planning session in the Embassy's secure information center in the Embassy basement.

"Agreed. This final rehearsal will be a live exercise involving the Guantanamo Bay prison complex. We drop in, stun 'em, free the native American political prisoners, and screen the others against our undesirables list. We take the good guys and leave the bad guys. We depart in formation up to Angels 100, and return to Penticton base. General, is there anything we've overlooked?" Michael asked.

"Not that I can see, Mike," Buzz Mikelsen replied. "If we can elude the site security at Gitmo, harmlessly neutralize the entire Marine contingent there, get into the cages past the alarms and traps, and get out with the prisoners, and do it without being seen or leaving any evidence behind, then son, I'd say that we're more than ready for the big show!"

"Good. The force assignments go as planned. The General and I will fly over-watch, piloted by Berl'ahan. If it hits the fan, it's our task to deal with intruders and pull you out of there. Tib and Chuck, you guys pilot the lead shuttle. Chuck, you lead your six Rangers into the cages. Wait for three squads from John's flight to join up with you before entering.

"John, you and your guys fly six shuttles. Three of your six-man Ranger squads will deploy outside the prison cages and take up stations to handle any loose cannons. The other three six-man squads from your shuttle group will join up with Chuck's Rangers in the main assault. We're happy to have you guys, John, as your training results have been excellent. Commander Stridehorn is pleased with the teamwork you've executed with his Ranger squads in the work-up to this mission," Mike explained.

"Thank you, Sir. It's good to hear those words, especially from you."

"You just can't drop that Sir bullshit, can you?" Mike grinned.

"Never in a million years, Sir!" Evans smiled.

"Cut him a break, Mike," Buzz growled. "We trained them that way. It's part of his genetic makeup."

"Alright. My only real concern is the right moment to hit 'em with an EMP burst, and I know we've talked this half to death this morning, but it still worries me. There's absolutely got to be perfect coordination of the EMP burst which takes out their entire electrical and electronic infrastructure, with the stun grenades and pistols to take down all of the guards. If there is the slightest lag, they'll have time after they recover from the shock of the complex going dark, to know that they're under attack. They'll be going for their weapons. I've got total faith in our personal armor, guys, but I'd really rather not have a hail of weapons fire sluicing around us in close quarters. Accidents do happen!" Mike said.

"You know we've practiced this scenario several times, Mike," the General explained. "We slip the Rangers in slow and easy, invisible. They're all in position, ready to act. When the systems go down, the ones at the barracks quarters toss in the stun grenades and enter with a stun pistol sweep. At the same time all the opposing force active guards are neutralized the same way, with stun grenades and stun pistols.

"We've got it down to sixty seconds, start to finish, and we're free to open and enter the cages and begin sorting them out, and loading them out. It should take no more than fifteen minutes to have them aboard and out of there," Buzz said.

"Yeah, I know. The exercises have been near-perfect, and that's why we're going with this mission. Still, I worry. I've had Murphy poke his nose into my perfect plans before, and invariably it's a painful and embarrassing experience," Mike grumbled.

"Okay, leaving Murphy aside, how do the rest of you pilots and force leaders feel about it? Any last minute thoughts?"

Nobody voiced a question.

"Okay. Tomorrow evening then. Loading and flight ops begin at 2200 as planned. Over the target at 0100. Execute extraction and depart the scene no later than 0200. Return to base at 0500, latest."

It was a windy night with low clouds scudding across the blinking stars. It had been timed so no moonlight was there to cast shadows or to reveal shimmering patterns of cloaked figures slipping slowly around and through the compound to take up their positions.

A solitary shuttle descended to within one hundred feet above the Guantanamo complex. It hovered invisibly for fifteen minutes, observing and reporting to the attack group which was waiting five hundred feet above. Seeing no unusual activity, hearing no radar or visual sighting alarms, the seven cloaked shuttles descended slowly and deliberately into position fifty feet above the razor-wire and cyclone-fence cages of the prison compound. Six Ranger squads descended invisibly, lowered by new personnel deployment tractor beams to the ground. Tib and Hutch were delighted with their idea, and with the Masi'shen engineers who developed it. Typical helicopter assault teams rappelled down climbing ropes, but ropes were visible. Tractor deployment beams are invisible.

Reaching the ground and splitting into two-man teams, the Rangers moved cautiously to their assigned positions. No dust was stirred, no noise was made, nothing touched or rattled. They were slow-moving, silent ghosts.

A brief radio tone signaled to Michael and Buzz that the Rangers were in position and waiting. Two short answering tones acknowledged, and the Gitmo prison compound went dark in an arcing shower of short-circuited and over-loaded electrical systems. Power transformers exploded with roaring, blinding flashes. Dozens of stun grenades flashed and sweeping, blinking stun pistol discharges flared across the compound. Dozens of uniformed guards slumped and sagged to the ground at their posts. Some fell in half-stride, walking their rounds. Dozens more lay in their bunks, unconscious, not knowing that their sleep had turned to stunned unconsciousness.

"Open the cages. One Ranger is to enter each cage and de-cloak. Order the prisoners to hold where they are while you call their names. Teammates, hold guard positions outside the cages and remain cloaked," the assault leader radioed her reminder to the team leaders.

Everything was going like clock work. Several of the undesirable prisoners decided they deserved release along with the others, but as they tried to push past the Ranger reading the go/no-go list, they were dropped to the deck, stunned. After the prisoners were sorted out, they were formed into double lines and led into the outer compound, ready for loading.

A door slammed open and a Marine Major stepped into the hallway, tightening his belt and zipping his fly, right in front of John Evans. The Major glanced out the hallway window. He saw lines of prisoners moving across the compound.

"What the hell?" he yelled, grabbing for his belt radio. He never got it loose from its clip before John zapped him. Oh, great! What a time for him to take a crap!" John muttered. Well, I guess I'll just let you wake up sitting on the crapper where you should have stayed," John growled as he dragged the Major's limp body back into the head.

"Hey, Chuck, Tib! You guys had better send a few of your men on a sweep down the hallways to check all the heads. I just had a 'jack-in-the-box' pop out. No sweat, he's a sleeper now, but if I hadn't been here it would have been a big hassle."

"Got it. So that's the glitch that had Mike sweating. We forgot about the damned heads!"

"Picture perfect!" Buzz Mikelsen exclaimed during the Penticton debriefing.

"Well, almost," Michael objected. "We had that loose dude in the crapper, but John took care of it. Next time, let's include a thorough sweep in our plans, okay?"

"Okay," Buzz grinned. "So, we've been all through it, and everybody is happy as pigs in shit. No glitches, no accidents, no screw-ups. We got a lot of good people out of there, some of them back to their worried families, and everybody is relocated to a safe place. I'd say we're ready for the Big Show!

It was thirty hours before it occurred to somebody in the Pentagon that the Guantanamo prison complex hadn't reported in. Repeated attempts to contact the base by radio, cellphone, landline, or ship or aircraft burst transmissions were not answered.

"The whole damned station is silent. We see a bunch of guards and people moving around. Some of them waving, frantically. All the vehicles are in place but nothing is moving. There's a distress signal laid out on the pavement in front of the main gate," a pilot observer radioed back.

"Have the helo's move in, drop a security detachment, and report back to me on the double," the commanding general ordered.

He was not pleased by the report. Senior pentagon officials were far less than pleased, but the bad news never leaked outside the Pentagon firewall. Consensus among the Flag commanders in the loop, and there were damned few allowed in the loop, was that the deed was done, the damage controllable, and what Stinson didn't know wouldn't blow back on them.

"Randall, this is beyond top secret. Get repair supplies and crews moving in there, now! Gitmo will be lighted and back on the comm grid within two days or I'll have a bucket of people's balls sitting on my desk by the third morning. That includes yours! Are you reading me?"