MacV Central Command, Saigon
SOG Operations Room.
Trautman, Garner, Ortega and General Loyd had been sitting around that round table with the oversized map on it for longer than they cared to admit.
Despite discussing it these past hours, they still hadn’t figured it out while the room smelt more and more cigarette smoke and sweat.
The aerial photos scattered over the map in an apparently random fashion may have appeared to be satellite photos of this day and age, only they weren't. They were taken within air parameters.
had challenged the best Russian-made anti air weapons at North Vietnam's disposal. To take them, the F100 crews had challenged the best Russian-made anti-aircraft currently available to North Vietnam.
Only there was something amiss with those photos.
After days of bombing, the command structures near the border resulted razed right to the ground. Yet radio Vietcong, which was, in all effects, responsible for coordinating attacks in the South had never ceased to transmit. In fact, that damn signal was coming straight from there as they spoke.
Trautman and Loyd couldn't work out how they’d managed to carry on with radio traffic co, and why, there was so much movement detected, when there shouldn’t have been any left at all.
It was for that reason they had summoned Ortega, in hopes that he could shed some light on what was going on.
Where is this? - Ortega wondered as he looked from the photos to the oversized map.
Where the hell is this?
Sure, chances are it is a hidden command centre. That could very well be, but for it to be large enough to command entire divisions of soldiers all over the place just South of DMZ seemed unbelievable. The idea that you could possibly hide a structure of that kind was, frankly speaking, borderline preposterous.
.
So preposterous in fact, that after Trautman and Loyd had discussed it for another two hours with Ortega, they had clearly reached the point of exasperation. They’d even gone as far as to contemplate bombing the zone with defoliants and that would be that.
Only if they could of course, but they couldn't.
At least not that far North they couldn’t.
Regarding NorthVietnam, Only the president of the United States himself, could decide whether to drop bombs there or not and solely on the basis of the progress of the peace negotiations Not always did Peace negotiators want what soldiers on the front-line wanted however, and often times it was quite the contrary.
The Vietcong were extremely good at getting ‘peace' concessions that always turned out useful on the battlefield too.
Trautman yawned in front of Ortega rather indifferently, and then covered his face with his hands.
Despite how tense Ortega still felt, the meeting had become pointless.
The Baker Team leader took subtle glimpses through eyes that were almost snake-like.
-
That's because even though he had no intention of going, he was already
thinking about what might have happened if they sent him down there in his head.
He had no intention of going to a place like that however, especially not for a recon like the one on Point of No Return, let alone on a mission.
-
“Maybe this command centre is much further from the border than we think,” said Trautman, interrupting his thoughts.
“It may be further back and higher North. Maybe the triangulation is completely wrong. That would explain why the VCs changed their re-entry points to entirely different locations. See? They’re all different.”
“No Colonel,” interrupted Ortega.
“It can’t be where you’re saying because it would take you an extra two days get to friendly territory so you’d need to carry more supplies with you and you’d get tired faster.
Nope. Judging by the way they’re moving, and what they’re doing, the base has to be close.
Jesus. The point is that everything still works even if we don’t know how.”
“What if they rebuilt further South?” asked Garner.
“Nobody has given it any serious thought till now.”
“Structures like that? Here, with us?” Loyd interrupted.
“Many of them used to live here, General, and they moved up North when the Paris Peace Accord split the country in half. Most of them are playing a home game.”
In hopes of putting an end to the discussion, Loyd nodded to show his lack of interest but his didn’t surprise Trautman at the least. He'd got to know the general well by now and Trautman knew the two of them were completely different.
As far as the general was concerned, time spent trying to understand the enemy, was nothing more than time wasted. In other words, it was pointless.
Trautman turned to Ortega.
“What’s your take, Skorpio? Do you think they could have rebuilt everything just further south? Would that explain the change in their return route?”
“I’m not sure, Sir.”
Ortega tilted his head.
“We can't dismiss the idea completely even though it leaves a lot of questions unanswered and too many 'buts'. For instance, the Mike Force has a number of outposts, three to be exact, one here, the other here and the third one here. Therefore, the Mike Force has radio coverage, air cover and even a good artillery backup in this area.”
Ortega stopped suddenly where he was.
“What the fuck,” he said.
Reaching towards the middle of the table, he picked up a photo and turned it upside-down.
“Here they are.”
“They’re right here.”
Ortega tapped his index finger a few times on the photo in question, while Garner, Trautman and Loyd got closer to get a better look at it.
“They’ve always been right there under our noses this entire fucking time.”
“What? What did we miss?” asked the general.
“What son, what is it?”
“That’s them there, and this small black rectangle here too, beside the demolished buildings. Here as well, and look, there's another one here too.”
“Ventilation systems,” said Trautman looking away from the photo.
Then he added:
“The motherfuckers used air shafts.”
“Tunnels,” said Garner to the general.
“All the way this far North, you think? Is that actually possible?”
“A fucking air-raid bunker,” Ortega added.
“It might even be a bomb shelter. God only knows how big it actually is down there. They’ve never done anything like this before. Not so far north anyways, those goddamn sons of bitches. I really didn't see it coming.”
Trautman turned to general Loyd.
“Let's send a sniffer Sir, just to be sure. It’ll pick up on piss, shit and the smell of that fucking rice they’re always eating. They’re all fucking down there, Goddamn it. I’ll bet my ass on it.”
“Let me get this straight,” interrupted Loyd.
“You think that radio station we’ve been looking for is at the bottom of those shafts?”
“Everything is down there: the station, Central Command, the officers... They’re all right there.”
“They’ve never dug a tunnel base so far north, and you think something that big is there already?”
“I’m positive.” intervened Ortega.
“Look at the distance between those three shafts and divide it by the amount of air you’d need. Suppose there are a couple more of those shafts where we can't see them, and there you go. There's a whole fucking command centre down there.”
“They’re the same assholes who’ve been running the offensives these past three months,” said Trautman.
“So how do you attack a place like that?” asked the General.
Ortega glanced at Trautman before giving an answer, ensuring he had permission before replying to the general. When the Colonel nodded, Ortega looked down at that damn map but this time almost reluctantly.
I knew it – he thought.
I knew they’d end up asking eventually.
He looked at the map and reflected some more.
How do you attack a place like that? - Ortega asked himself rhetorically.
Well, frankly speaking, you don't.
You don't attack it at all.
You don't attack a bomb shelter on Vietnamese soil where only God knows how many VCs are defending it. You also wouldn't attack something like that without any air cover and only an eight-man team rather than fifty hoping to avoid a diplomatic incident.
You’d need an entire army at your disposal, to say the very least.
That kind of attack would have been suicidal even for the Baker Team.
Damn Cold War – thought Ortega.
Fundamentally, they needed to address two problems.
The first was the structure itself. It was too big, too important and far too close to turn a blind eye.
In other words, they couldn’t just leave it standing there.
That was out of the question.
The looks that Trautman and Loyd were giving him certainly spoke for themselves.
As for the Colonel and the general, what they wanted was a plan, and they wanted it now.
Nevertheless, it was suicidal.
It was equally dangerous for all of them, including the Marines, let alone a few undercover teams.
Ortega took a deep breath and kept analysing the risks.
The second problem was that, when push came to shove, only one operational group could possibly contemplate an op of this kind. One group alone had enough training and obtained the field expertise to consider it and that was the Baker Team.
They were the only ones who could conceivably get in and out alive.
There was no doubt in Ortega’s mind about the level of danger they’d face.
Had Loyd and Trautman known, they wouldn’t have risked sending the Baker Team and instead sent another one.
Sending another team however would have only been a waste.
A useless waste of human lives.
That’s for sure. – thought Ortega to himself.
In case that still wasn’t problematic enough, there was still the problem of getting in and all the difficulties pertaining to that. Then along with ascertaining what kind of Target it was they had to deal with the defence system that was protecting right there and then. No way, uh-uh.
Ortega couldn't let them sacrifice another SOG team for no reason.
His conviction that day was the onset of his own burial, a death wish you could say.
Even so, he knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing and would have to do.
After all, that was his job.
Dying was occasionally part of the job
At least it was part of his job, anyway.
“Well, what does it take to attack a place like that then?” Trautman repeated.
“A few men, given we have no other choice.”
Ortega stopped suddenly almost trance-like.
Then almost curtly, he added:
“Maybe, having a lot of men wouldn't make much of a difference. Perhaps a stealth approach may end up being your best bet.”
Loyd moved closer, curious about what he’d just heard.
Without hesitation, Garner nodded showing his approval.
“I like it,” he said.
“Carry on, Soldier.”
“It’ll be complicated, maybe even borderline desperate. We’re talking about well-entrenched people here and on their soil. Not to mention all their in-house defence systems, the active and passive kind, along with everything else. We have to get into the place without them even knowing it, preferably in the middle of the night, hitting fast and disappearing in a flash.”
“So do you have a general idea about how to proceed already?” inquired Trautman.
“More or less, yes, maybe I do. In theory. I’m just improvising however, and I need some time. Twenty-four hours at least, or even a couple of days if possible.”
Trautman turned to look at the general.
“That’s okay, by me,” said Loyd.
“Go on.”
Ortega swallowed. His mouth was dry.
He felt like he was tying a noose around his own neck.
Then, he turned to them and said:
“A Halo jump.”
“By night?”
“Yes. We could para-jump by night and get in position. When we’re ready, we signal the B52s to bomb.”
“With you in there?” asked Loyd.
“Yes, but we’ve done it before, and know how to get it done. Either we find shelter or wait hang tight a little further back. That doesn't matter at all really.”
“Okay” said Trautman.
“Once bombing starts, the guards outside will either panic or make a run for it, while the others will all be in the hole, safe. That's because no one expects a large-scale ground attack, not that far north anyways. Because it could set off World War III, right?”
If Ortega didn’t have everyone’s attention until then, make no mistake, he did now.
“Well, as I was saying, right after the bombing there’ll be the usual silent aftermath. That’s when a team of eight might be able to quietly slip into the perimeter, and back out fast.”
“If you get caught, it’s all over,” said Loyd.
“Fighting won’t get you out of there alive.”
Ortega looked over at Loyd raising his eyebrow as he did.
“As always tends to be the case, General,” Ortega retorted.
“If we get caught the mission is over and we are all as good as dead with zero probability of getting back out alive. Those conditions are no different from the ones SOG pretty much works in all of the time, General. Even if we were armed with nothing more than knives and we’d still have the same chance of accomplishing the mission and getting the job done.”
“Can we move on?” Trautman said intervening.
The General nodded.
“After the bombing, we’ll make for the ventilation shafts. The best thing to use would be ordinary propane gas, the civilian kind. Its only downside is that it’s got an extra chemical in it so it absolutely reeks. They put it in for safety reasons because you’re more likely to notice a potential leak if the smell is noticeable.”
Trautman nodded.
He'd a pretty good idea of where Ortega was going with all this.
“We’re gonna’ need some modified propane, the odourless kind. Since it’s is heavier than air, when we release it into the air-ducts, it’ll head straight down the shafts. It won’t take more than a few minutes to get everywhere.”
“Couldn’t we just use some phosphorus instead?” Garner asked.
“No. It’s too big down there for phosphorus to work in. In fact, I think it’ll take two tanks of propane to get the job done actually. Two tanks should be more than enough to knock the whole thing down.”
“Sounds easy enough,” said Trautman
“It isn’t, Sir, not in the least actually. The bombing will have to exactly on target and heavy too, or the VCs may catch on and make it out of their shelters in time.
In any case, we won’t have more than a few minutes at our disposal before they all come rushing out of their rat holes. And if we don’t do everything fast enough there’ll be fifty or even one hundred men down there in no time and we’ll get blown away before we know what’s hit us.”
“Maybe we should bomb them for an entire week, to tire them out a little before you guys get started,” suggested Garner.
“I don't think we can afford it,” Trautman replied.
Then the Colonel turned towards Ortega.
“I need those planes somewhere else. I’m sorry.”
Ortega shrugged.
“What really matters here is that you can guarantee you’ll nail them with another offensive, just as strong, the second we’re gutta’ there. I want to get this thing done between attacks and all within a matter of minutes.”
“That's plain suicidal, that is,” said the General, as Ortega looked on wide-eyed almost in trance.
Then before replying, he looked toward Loyd through squinting serious eyes and said:
“This entire fucking mission is suicidal.”
Then he looked back at Trautman.
“Bombing won’t be a problem.”
“Good.”
At that point it was Garner who intervened.
“So what you’re saying is that the real problem is the number of troops that’ll be outside, because you have no intention of actually setting foot in the place.”
“Exactly,” replied Ortega.
“But there’s other issues as well. The GPL tanks, for instance, are heavy. We’ll have to parachute them on their own and then retrieve them later on so there won’t be a lot of time at to do it.”
“How about putting an infrared stroboscope on them?” said Garner.
“Invisible to the naked eye – he said to Loyd – but similar to a lighthouse in the night through night vision goggles.”
Ortega nodded. He had already used that kind of technology like that and it seemed reliable enough.
The only real drawback of any of this was that neither the propane tanks nor the infrared strobes were regular equipment.
Ortega hated working with special equipment without testing it beforehand.
“On second thought Sir, I’ll need more notice than only twenty-four hours.
I want all of the new equipment we’ll be using on the mission in advance to check personally beforehand. Every single piece of equipment and that includes the smell-free propane tanks, the infrared strobes, all of it. I can't afford to find myself cursing, in the dead of night, surrounded by the enemy because I can’t find the crates I need to get a mission while the clock counts down to the next offensive right about us.”
“Loyd?” said Trautman.
“Well, if you ask me, we can hang off a day or two, even three if necessary. That outta’ give you the time you need to try everything out as well as the night equip too.”
“Alright,” Ortega answered.
“I’ll think about it.”
“There’s still one more thing. If the tunnel network doesn’t collapse, we’ll need to put the secondary charges by hand and that means going in. That’s probably the part where we die trying to get your mission accomplished.”
Trautman and Garner didn't say anything.
Loyd on the contrary, without hesitating in the least, went on to say:
“I’d be happy if we just set the tunnels on fire for God’s sake and I don't even care how much it costs to do it. If the network doesn't come down on its own, I’m personally authorizing you to get outta’ there anyway,” said Loyd.
Ortega nodded.
If their objective was to hit and run, that mission had just become a hell of a lot easier.
“I’d say that’s it for now,” Trautman concluded.
Ortega sighed in relief.
“All you have to do now is tell me whether or not you accept the mission so we start looking for another team to do the job in case you don’t.”
Ortega stood alone giving everything they’d discussed more thought.
He knew his answer already, but he took his time before saying it anyway. Whenever they offered him a mission, he’d always reflect a moment before answering. He was well aware that the answer he gave could cost him his life.
He understood how much of a burden his choice was by the weight he’d feel afterwards on his back.
Despite any feelings he'd to the contrary, that mission was possible.
As desperate as it was, the mission was viable and realistically speaking, could be done.
More than just feasible, the objective made it important as well.
A mission that was capable of becoming an event of great consequence.
“I accept,” were the words Ortega eventually expressed aloud He sure hoped he wasn’t making the biggest mistake in his life,
“Let's do this thing.”
“Ok, good, I'm glad to hear it,” Trautman said.
Then he went on to add:
“So at this point, I’d say the plan’s definitive and we’re all set and good to go.”
“Well, not exactly - said Ortega - I still want to look it over a few more times over the next few days.”
“Of course,” said Trautman turning back around to look him.
“This mission will now otherwise be known as Devil's Den.”
The devil’s den –Ortega repeated out loud in his head.
Rather appropriate as far as names go if you ask me.
This was the second time something reminded him of the deserter he’d met on his “No Man’s Land” mission. He brought to mind the devil himself in flesh and blood.
Therefore, when Trautman told them he’d named the mission Devil’s Den, he got a strange feeling inside.
“I recommend you, Ortega,” Trautman told him.
“No gathering intelligence, no damage assessing and no fine-tuning. Just do what you have to do and then make a run for it. Is that clear, soldier?”
Ortega nodded.
“The devil will be in there just waiting for you, and I don't want you staying a second longer than you have to. Got that, Skorpio?"