Kill Decision(6)
The soldiers pushed their prisoner silently past armed sentries into an inner ring of defenses, toward an unmarked building secured with razor wire fencing. A sentry opened the doors to admit them into a vestibule, where still more sentries opened an interior door. No one spoke or saluted as the group moved swiftly through.
In a moment the door shut behind them, and they stood in a Spartan room lined with equipment shelving, rows of radios in charging stations, and weapons in wall racks. One of the soldiers drew a knife and cut the PlastiCuffs from their prisoner’s wrists, while another soldier pulled the black hood from the man’s head.
The prisoner calmly oriented himself as he rubbed his wrists. His long black beard and mustache with close-cropped hair lent him a distinctly Talibanesque air, which his lean frame and weathered skin only accentuated. He stared straight ahead with steel blue eyes.
The lead soldier nodded to him. “Welcome back, Odin.”
The bearded man answered in perfect Midwestern English, “Good to be back, Staff Sergeant.”
“Follow me. Can we get you anything?”
Odin shook his head as they walked down a hall lined by doorways. Several officers nodded with respect as he passed by. Before long they came to a wooden door. The staff sergeant knocked twice, and then entered a briefing room containing a single folding table. Plywood wall sections displayed sector maps and LCD panels displayed live satellite and surveillance images. Soft radio chatter kept up a steady background noise.
“I have Odin for you, Colonel.”
“It’s about goddamned time.”
Looking up from the table was a man in his sixties wearing a blue Oxford cloth shirt and a dark blue blazer with khaki slacks, a laptop open next to him. His eyes were hard and his manner imposing. His powerful-looking hands hinted at the old commando he no doubt was.
The staff sergeant left without a word, closing the door behind him. Odin stood to attention and saluted. “You wanted to see me, Colonel.”
“Have you forgotten whose side you’re on, Master Sergeant?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, it sure as hell looks that way. I’m in a class-five political shit storm because of you.”
“In the proper context my methods—”
“Your methods have caused lasting damage to this mission. Here’s a clue, son: You’re supposed to disrupt enemy operations—not our operations.”
“What I did made strategic sense.”
“No, you thought it made sense—and it’s not your job to think. It’s your job to kill the enemy.”
“I was taught that a special operator needs to think for himself—both strategically and tactically. To adapt to the situation on the ground or be overcome by events. Sir.”
The colonel studied Odin. “How does warning an insurgent leader about an impending CIA missile strike make good strategic sense? My S-2 reports that the man’s current whereabouts are unknown. This individual will now live to fight another day—thanks to you.”
Odin was silent.
“How do you justify your actions, Master Sergeant?”
Odin considered the question. “Sooner or later we will leave this place. And we need to leave behind more than just radicalized young men who’ve known only war. The tribal elder I saved is widely respected in those capillary valleys, and he’s a moderate compared to the people who would succeed him—although I don’t imagine that was obvious in the aerial imagery.”
“Task Force Steel says he’s the hub of an insurgent network.”
“Yes, in reaction to our military occupation of his land. But when we’re not around he kills foreign fighters and narco-traffickers. If we get the hell out of this guy’s way, he’ll do our work for us.”
“Nonetheless—”
“We don’t need conventional forces here, Colonel. Men like me can work the ground unseen, play political factions against each other, use proxies. As it stands, our patrols and bases are just targets, and the more firepower we use, the more enemies we create.”
“That’s enough.” The colonel’s stare bored into Odin for several moments. “How did your team conceal its movements from our drones?”
“We created decoy targets in their flight path—remotely fired mortars. Insurgents do it all the time to frame rivals. We made the snatch while our drones were distracted.”
The colonel continued silently observing Odin. “You’ve made your distaste for drones widely known at battalion.”
“Drones are useful for recon, but they can’t replace a human being on the ground. And if you ask me, these missile strikes do more harm than good. Take that disaster in Karbala—suicide bombings and IED attacks have already increased in every theater of operations. It’s been a recruiting bonanza for our enemies.”