Secret War

PROLOGUE

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On August 2, 1990, Saddam Hussein led his country to overrun Kuwait. Before the invasion, the DIA (Defense Intelligence Agency) had its suspicions about Hussein.  They assigned the MACAW (Military and Civilian Armed Warfare) department to keep an eye on the gulf region.  The group had special annalists versed in the Arab language and culture. MACAW studied the situation, Babcock Anderson, the department chief decided to tell the White House about the department’s findings.

Earlier in the year, Anderson met with the President, George Bush, and the Joint Chiefs in a closed meeting.  After two hours of discussion, Anderson could tell it was all politics.  At this point Saddam was in the good graces of the United States.  Iraq had been selling oil and buying arms all over the world to fight their war with Iran.

Finally, Anderson had enough and pounded his fist on the table, I’m getting sick and tired of this hear no evil, see no evil attitude! Saddam is going to do it and do it big!

With that warning Anderson picked up his briefcase and exited the oval office.  A few days later he sent a secret MACAW team into Iraq.  Their job was to find out the country’s chemical capabilities and possibly sabotage them. After the early stages of the mission, all contact was lost with the team.

Since chemical warfare was not used in the invasion, there was some hope that the secret team was successful.  It was still a guessing game whether Hussein would use gas or not.  The risk became greater as the Coalition forces began building up in the desert.

Chapter 1

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27 AUGUST 1990 

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Whitmore Young hurried his overweight body up the steps to his photography studio.  He could hear the phone ringing inside but couldn’t get the door unlocked in time to answer it.

Verbalizing his frustration he dropped the sack of doughnuts he was carrying. The doctor said I had to quit eating those things anyway.

Finally he pushed open the heavy oak door, but it was too late for the phone. He fumbled with the controls of the answering machine as he played back the tape.  Whit, call Anderson Photo Lab about your prints.

It was the special code to call Colonel Babcock Anderson as soon as possible.  Young could tell Anderson’s nasal twang long before he received the code words.

Young started thinking about his old boss and friend Col. Babcock Anderson.  Everyone called him Bab, He was the not-so-liked chief of MACAW.  Young got along with Anderson, but they did have their moments.

Young hit the answering machine with his fist, I’m going to tell him face to face, that I want nothing to do with the Arabs or fighting any Islamic terrorism.

Ever since the invasion of Kuwait, Young had been expecting this call.  He had promised his wife, Cynthia that he wouldn’t get involved with the Arabs again.

The meeting was set for a little cafe about two blocks from the Prehistoric Museum in Pocatello, Idaho.  Anderson had used this cafe before.  Anderson is just like me, he likes to eat and that place has the best ribs in the state. 

Young arrived at the cafe a little before noon.  The waitress who motioned him to the side room was one of Anderson’s undercover people.  She stared at him as he fingered the scar on his left cheek, amazed at how it had stretched over the years, a little present from the Iranian hostage crisis in 1980.  He was glad that he had grown a beard to hide most of it.

The waitress gave him a sadistic smile as she ushered him into the back room and shut the door behind him.  Anderson sat with a fatherly look on his face, like he was about to tell his teenage son the facts of life.  Young hadn’t seen him in over two years; he had given his answer on the Kuwait situation over the phone in July when Anderson had called.

Young approached, surprised to see that Anderson’s hair had gone completely gray, and his healthy dark tan was a pasty white.  Anderson commanded a lot of respect, being in charge of the special branch of the DIA, but the pressure had taken its toll over the years.

Anderson put down his cigarette and looked up at Young, You know why I called, don’t you?  Young took a seat in the booth opposite him.  I know what you said, but the stakes are higher now.

Young rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air.  Oh great, here comes the good-of-the-country speech.

Now Whit, just hang on and hear what I have to say.

Okay, but you’re buying lunch, and some beer to boot!

The waitress approached.  Young contemplated what he was going to say.  He knew he couldn’t back down this time.  He had to tell Anderson and the company off.

Young raised his voice, Bab, before I hear your story, I’m going to tell you exactly how I feel!  He looked deep into Anderson’s steel gray eyes.  What gives you the right to call me every time you have an Arab problem?  Every time one of those big nosed, camel-smelling bastards sneeze, the civilized world catches a cold.  They have the world by the short-and-curlies because they have the oil.  These people have been fighting amongst themselves for thousands of years.  We should let them duke it out.

Anderson sat without saying a word.  Young rattled on, "On top of that Islamic terrorism has grown in the world and now these Arabs have extended their hatred to other cultures throughout the world.

What really bothers me is when something happens you call me.  I’m sure MACAW has a lot of fresh, more capable Arab operatives."

Young took a drink of water, wishing the beer would hurry.  Besides, I’ve been retired for almost nine years.  I think you like to feed off my hatred for the Arabs.

Young’s face grew red.  You didn’t ask me what I thought when Gadhafi rattled his saber a few years ago.  I would have told you to stick a couple of bombers in his back yard. At least Reagan had enough balls to do it.  If Bush would have done that a month ago, we wouldn’t be in this fix.

He paused to catch his breath and gather his thoughts in an effort to control his anger.  Like I said before, why me?  Anderson started to say something but Young cut him off. Why don’t you send Timbrook?

Anderson unfolded his hands, We did. 

It hit Young. They sent Timbrook and something happened.  He felt sweat form on his forehead and his stomach turned over.  Greg Timbrook, my best friend. I haven’t heard from him since March.  Greg was just leaving for a vacation in Tibet when he phoned.

He put both hands on his water glass to stop them from shaking.  It wasn’t unusual for him not to call or even write when he ran covert operations for MACAW.

Young just sat there staring into his water glass, wishing for something stronger to drink.  He was in a trance as Anderson’s voice went into his briefing monotone.

What I’m going to tell you is mostly classified.  I’m going to tell you without the usual paperwork.  Besides, if we can’t trust you, then we’re in bigger trouble. 

Anderson took a drag off of his cigarette.  I’ll start in the time period right after I last talked to you in late July.  That was just 2 months prior to that I told the President that this was going to happen and almost lost my job.  At that point we wanted you to find out what you could about a possible invasion.  We didn’t want to send in a new Arab operative, knowing that it would be too late by the time we got him up to speed,

In frustration Anderson pounded his fist on the table.  They wouldn’t listen anyway!

Anderson put out his cigarette sat back in his chair trying to relax.  Timbrook and a complete MACAW team were sent into Iraq to damage or wipe out the chemical effectiveness of Saddam’s war machine.

He handed Young a list with some names on it.  Timbrook used the best people for the job.  The biggest problem was they didn’t have time to train as a team...

Anderson paused to light up another cigarette.  It gave Young time to think.  Ever since the formation of the MACAW teams there was always a rush.  MACAW, being a separate branch of the DIA, was made up of civilian and military forces.

A smile formed on Young’s lips. The civilians provided the brains because the military didn’t have any.

Anderson pointed to the list. Timbrook has thirteen men with him, nine regular MACAW specialists, two more specialists from the Army and two extra civilians.  The two civilians were chemical engineers and the Army people are welders.  The basic plan included welders to change pipes or tanks in the big chemical plants.  The plan called for the team to infiltrate the chemical plants and storage areas making them harmless.  The ones they couldn’t do themselves were to be mapped out for the bombers to hit, when we got the authority.  The code name was Dragon Fang, a big mission, one that could save thousands of lives.

Anderson put out his cigarette again.  Young watched, staring at Anderson’s yellow fingers. Anderson has become a nervous chain smoker.

Anderson folded his hand hiding the yellow digits. We sent them in by HALO (High Altitude Low Open) drop.  One of Timbrook’s messages told how they stole camels to move some equipment.  Apparently the air drop damaged the one vehicle they had.

Anderson pulled a folder out of his briefcase.  Young could see the top-secret stamp embossed on the cover as Anderson pulled out the memo and began to read.  Dragon Fang is delayed, the rear axle of the vehicle is broken, but we have a plan to steal camels tonight.  Also our radio was wiped out, we are using the backup system.

Anderson put the message away, That was their last message sent by the old code burst system, because Murphy of Murphy’s Law is at work.  We have to realize that that code burst system is short range if at all, so they may go to a messenger system.

Young smiled as he thought. Murphy’s Law, what can go wrong, will.  I’ve been there a few times.

Anderson pulled out a calendar and pointed to some dates.  We haven’t received any information from Timbrook since early August. 

Young, thinking he had the answer, looked up from the calendar.  Well, since gas wasn’t used on Kuwait, that means Timbrook did his job.

Anderson scowled, Whit, we don’t know that.  He could have finished only part of the mission.  Maybe Saddam is waiting for a better time to use chemicals.

Young’s mind was racing. Anderson was right, now they could all be dead.  He had to go.

He gazed at Anderson’s list as he said, So all I have to do is go find Timbrook, get him and the facts out? So when do you drop me in? 

It’s not as easy as that. 

Oh great, there are some complications.

Even if we could find him we couldn’t drop you in because Timbrook is working with the Mossad.  (Israeli Central Institute for Intelligence and Security) On this and we don’t want to upset the delicate Arab balance.  He can’t be pulled out until he finishes his mission with the Mossad."

Young felt confused.  I’ve worked with the Mossad before.  If they’re involved, things were really in chaos.

Anderson pulled Young out of his thoughts.  We agreed to help the Mossad find and assassinate Saddam, if they would help us destroy the gas.  With the help of the Mossad, a vast network was set up to accomplish our tasks. 

Young picked up a note pad, ready for the bad news.  Okay, break it to me gently.

You have to go into Saudi Arabia and Iraq to pick up Timbrook’s messages.  Maybe you won’t have to go find him. There are several emergency message drops he might use between January 15th and sometime in February.

Why those dates?

Bush will push for a deadline of January 15th for Saddam to pull his ass out of Kuwait.  The Coalition forces will bomb the hell out of them for a month or more, depending on what you find out.

Young was a little surprised at what he’d heard.  Our military is going to blow some Arabs away with the help of some other Arabs?

Depending on the chemical situation, the ground forces will push the Iraqi army out of Kuwait, drive on into Iraq and destroy their army.

Anderson paused and lowered his voice to a whisper. One other thing confuses the issue.  There is a rumor that Bush may have sent a personal memo to Saddam saying if he used gas we’ll put a big nuke right in his back yard.  Since we’re not on very good terms with the White House, we don’t know the answer to that one either.

Anderson turned back to his calendar and Young’s mission.  We’ll have to take you in slow, have you make all the contacts, and be ready to move on a moments notice.

Young looked down at his overweight frame.  I have a lot of work to do.

Your expertise with Special Forces is another reason I have to send you in this way.  I may need you to coordinate some missions.  The ISA is providing most of the integrating, but since you’ll have the best equipment, we’ll need you for a couple of hard jobs.

It sounds like everyone is going to have a hand in this one.

There will be a total of over 8,000 Special Ops soldiers in the Gulf, and Schwarzkopf will want to be in contact with them.

Young sat there with a faraway look on his face.  Something Anderson said had brought back some bad memories.  The ISA (Intelligence Support Activity), one of the reasons I finally retired.  The shakeup came right after the Iranian hostage crisis. 

Young came out of his thoughts wanting to get some answers.  How about sending me in as a reporter?  Young asked hopefully.  Army life didn’t excite him anymore.  He didn’t like to take orders. 

No, that will draw too much attention.  They’re going to regulate the media in this war.  You wouldn’t have any freedom at all. 

Young’s nerves were starting to calm.  It was like the old days, before a major mission.  He was sure Anderson had formulated a plan.  But will I like it? I think this whole thing is a con to get me to work again. 

Anderson pulled some papers out of his briefcase as he said; There’s a Reserve Unit in Kalispell, Montana.  They will be activated about the 1st of December, and you’ll go as their First Sergeant.

This surprised Young.  If they’re planning this far ahead, it would mean a big buildup of military, both active and reserve.

That’s right, the generals are going all out.  If Saddam doesn’t pull out, there will be over 600,000 U.S. troops there to help him see the light.

Anderson pointed at the papers, This will put you on active duty immediately, giving you about two months to train.  With this and the mission bonus, you can hire somebody to help in your shop.  If we get good news from Timbrook, we’ll abort the mission.  This is a long one, we figure about four to six months.

Four months could be a lifetime in that God forsaken country, with nothing but sand and wind.  It can be a lifetime away from my family and friends.

You will have one asset, Colonel Crawford, the Company Commander is one of ours and will help you out as much as he can.  He’ll keep the wolves of your back but all of his help will be covert.

Young took a look at the photo of Crawford saying, I bet he’s just like the rest of the Company.  He’ll disown everything if I’m caught?

That’s right Mr. Phelps, and this message will self-destruct in 2 minutes Anderson joked as he shuffled papers.

We’ll compensate you heavily for the inconvenience, Anderson replied.

When Young had worked for the DIA he’d received GS-15 pay, and a mission bonus.  He expected at least that much.

Anderson lit up another cigarette, While you’re doing the checkpoints for Timbrook’s messages, we have some field testing to keep you busy.

Yeah, I bet.  What kind of unit am I working with?  He hoped it wouldn’t be a front line unit.  He wanted to dodge bullets on his own terms.

"It’s a Water Purification Unit; you’ll be attached to the XVIII Airborne Corps Artillery (VIDEO) when you get to Saudi."

Where’s my in-processing station? 

You’ll go to Fort Lewis, Washington, I’ll let you know when.  I want you to be there a few days ahead of them, so we can brief you.  At that time you’ll be issued your special equipment.  I’ve got a team headed by Phil Jarrad getting things ready for you.

Young piped up, Phil Jarrad?  I worked with him when he developed the 45 PW. 

Now he has a new modified 45 PW.  You’ll get the details of the weapon from him along with the training on it.

Young raised his eyebrows.  That’s one of the field test projects?

Yeah, it looks like a regular 45 pistol but has the extra punch.

Young’s thoughts went back to the year he worked with Jarrad.  Phil had built the ultimate handgun with a Titanium alloy.  Phil’s gun had half the weight and six times the strength of a standard 45 pistol. 

The waitress finally came with the beer.  Young grabbed the pitcher and started to pour.

There was talk of making a new laser sighting device and some explosive rounds.

You’ll have to talk to Jarrad about that, it’s his baby.

Anderson pulled a photo out of his briefcase.  This looks like an ordinary laptop computer.  It’s really the new NAP, which is short for Navigation and Photo.  You’ll be briefed on it at Fort Lewis.  We have one mounted on a stealth motorcycle that you’ll be using.

A stealth motorcycle, what do I need that for?

You’re going to be behind enemy lines.  Would you rather be on foot trying to find Timbrook?

Anderson slammed his briefcase shut.  Not only that but you’ll be interfacing with Special Forces and other projects that I may have for you on the way. He handed Young the photo, Besides, this thing has to be field tested.  You’re going to need all the help you can get. 

Young picked up his glass and started to drink, letting the cool suds flow into his mouth, doubt started to form in his mind.  What am I getting into?  Not only do I have to get my friend out of Iraq, but also I have to field test some high-tech devices. 

Anderson grabbed him by the shoulder.  Well Whit, I’ve got a plane to catch.  Anderson stood offering Young his hand.  I’m really sorry about how things have turned out.  Please tell Cynthia I’m sorry and that I’ll make it up to her.

Young rose, his mind mulling over the possibilities of his future. 

There was a long silence; Young finally stuck out his hand to grab Anderson’s.  I’m sorry Bab; I’m still in a daze about the whole thing.

I understand you take care.  I’ll be in touch.

I’m sure you will.

Anderson hurried out the door, his people following. 

Young walked out the door, looking up at the darkening sky, feeling a few drops of rain hit his head.  He didn’t go straight to his car, but took a leisurely stroll around the Idaho State University campus.

He felt betrayed and used as he shook his head in despair talking out loud in his frustration, Yes, I’ve been conned!

He sat down on a bus stop bench to think things over.  I just know Greg is all right, but I can’t take that chance and Old Bab is using that as a lever.

It was starting to pour now, so he jumped up and ran over to an overhang on one of the buildings to stay dry.  Pausing to catch his breath knowing he had a lot of work to do on his out of shape body so he would have a chance to help Greg.  He pulled out his cell phone and punched up Cynthia’s work number.

Cynthia’s phone rang twice, Dr. Jones office, Cynthia speaking.

Young was glad to hear her voice, he knew she would be waiting to find out what Bab had said when he told him off.  Hi Hon, have you got a minute we have to talk.

There was a pause, Please don’t tell me what I’ve feared, and you’re going to work for Bab?

Honey, I have to go find Greg, he’s been missing since the invasion of Kuwait

Oh no, I never thought...

Neither did I, and I’ve got another problem, Old Bab is conning me into doing some extra work for him while I’m looking for Greg.

Don’t tell me Mr. Smooth talked you into a few things, like he always does.

Cynthia knew Anderson too well. I’ll be field testing some equipment for him but I’m still worried about Greg.  You know he was acting real strange when I talked to him last.

You mean his search for God?

"Yeah, I told you about the Tibet trip, he was there for about a month. That was after the time I was up at his ranch when he asked me if I believed in God.

And you did the same thing to him as you do to me, just kind of avoided the issue.

"Hon, you know how I feel, I don’t have a chance at heaven with all the sinning I’ve done, all the people I’ve killed...

Yes, and we’ve discussed that before, that was in the line of duty, including saving my life when we first met.

Whit started to raise his voice but thought better of it, God isn’t going to give a damn about my priorities.  I’ve also stolen and lied...

He knew he had done it all except adultery, he had always been faithful to Cynthia and she knew it. We’ll have to carry on this discussion later.  I just had to tell you about Greg.  I just don’t think Greg is ready to come in yet.  He was talking about investigating the Arab religion and finding Allah.

Whit, I know how you feel but I’m sure he’s settled down now, it’s been almost a year since his wife died. I talked to him some; he just wanted some hope for her soul.  I wish you and I could talk more about that.

Young was embarrassed again, OK, I promise when I get Greg back, maybe he’ll have some answers.  We can all three sit down and hash this thing out once and for all.

Whit, I’ll take that as a promise. This whole thing will be worth it if I can get you to go to church with me!

Well I might not go that far, but I will listen to both of you, with an open mind I might add.

He could hear her give a big sigh on the other end.  "One thing I need you to do is call your cousin Peter, I’ll need him to run the shop while I’m gone.

"That sounds good, the boys can help out too.  Scott is seventeen now you know, and he’s been begging me for a chance to photograph some of the dances and things.  We can’t put Kevin in there yet, fourteen is a little young but he can help with the darkroom work.

I’ll call Peter tonight and give him a heads up.  Love you, have to run, Jonesy is buzzing.

His mind wandered back to the time he had first met Babcock Anderson. 

Chapter 2

It was Young’s third year in the United States, after leaving England.  He was twenty-one years old and going to school at the University of Montana, in Missoula. Young worked hard as a student.  The Forest Service also employed him in the summer at the Northwest Region Fire Laboratory.  The Fire Laboratory provided the Smoke Jumper School. They studied and taught forest fire fighting, including aerial firefighting.  This was the practice of parachuting into remote areas to combat forest fires.

One of Young’s friends had told him that there were some men asking questions about him at the administration building a few days ago.  He was on his way now to find out what was going on

He was tired of people being curious about his past. He was having a hard time anyway with his British accent.  The American and the British government had pulled a lot of strings to get him into the education system in the states. They also made arrangements for him to work for the Forest Service, even though he wasn’t a U.S. citizen yet.  One more year and he’d have his degree and citizenship. 

He walked in the front door, looking around to see if he would be able to talk to the receptionist without any interruptions.

Betty, how was that plane ride I arranged for you?

The blond woman looked up from her desk with a gleam in her eyes.  It was great.  Thanks again for the favor.  If there’s anything I can do to repay...

Young saw the opening.  As a matter of fact, there is one small favor.

A smile spread across Betty’s face.  Sure, what is it?

I understand there were some people asking questions about me the other day.  Can you give me some particulars?

Well, there were these two guys.  They asked how long you had worked here and if I knew you.

What did you say?

At first I told them you were employed here, but I couldn’t release any information without a written request signed by my boss.  You know?  That form we use for information release.

Young nodded his head as Betty continued.  Anyway the tall one pulled out a badge of some kind and said he had all the facts of your employment.  He just wanted to know about you. Basically, I told him you were a great guy and that we had dated a couple of times.

Young’s cheeks started to flush, Thanks for the compliment.  What kind of badge did he have?

I don’t know for sure, it said government something or other.  I was a little nervous at that point.

Is there anything else you can remember?

Betty thought for a moment.  "Yes, the car.  They got into one of those plain government cars.  But I’ve seen that car before.  It was the same car that dropped off Anderson a couple of weeks ago.  You know?  Babcock Anderson, he’s one of the new jumpers, here for training.

Young had a surprised look on his face.  Thanks Betty, I owe you.  He turned and walked toward the door, glancing over his shoulder as Betty gave a little smile.

He started walking back to the training building, hoping to run with the new trainees.  This is my third year as a smoke jumper and I don’t need this kind of harassment. 

He opened the door and slammed it with a bang.  He was upset as he headed for the locker area to confront Anderson. He had made crew chief at the end of last season and was in charge of his own hotshot crew.  The government has no right to spy on me.

The new group charged through the door pulling him out of his thoughts and almost knocked him down.  They were on their way to the exercise field.  Young hurried to change, hoping to catch up.  It was a five-mile run and the group was already a thousand yards ahead.  The afternoon sun beat down.  The sweat ran into Young’s eyes as he closed the gap.  He finally caught up with Anderson and started talking to him.  Anderson, how’re you doing? 

Anderson gasped for air as he tried to talk and run.  I’m fine.  I bet you’re glad this training is almost over.

Young took a couple of breathes while getting his running pace. It’s never over for me, but I’m anxious to get back to my crew.

Young ran close to Anderson getting right in his face. Are you staying on around here or what?

Young caught Anderson off guard, trying to answer Young without stepping on him.