The Cobra Identity by Frank Perry
were talking.
She could hear aircraft engine noise in the background and Peter’s response was quick, “Rachael, I have to go now, but you are in my heart every second. See you tomorrow! I love you.” The call ended.
She left the office feeling lonelier than she had before his call.
Cocked and locked
By ten o’clock Friday night, the breaching plan had been developed and coordinated with the FBI. The Feds would be positioned on the road leading to the house, out of direct line of sight. The Army team, composed of reserve Rangers, would parachute after dark on both sides of the house, landing about a quarter mile away. It was going to be a foggy night. Stokes, Striker Two, would lead six men to the north side, and Peter, Striker One, would have six on the south side. The back of the house faced east, toward the ocean. The FBI would blockade the road and cover the west side.
The airdrop would be from 12,000 feet from the C130 that had carried Peter from Andrews earlier that afternoon. On the ground, an AH-1 Super Cobra attack helicopter from the 142nd Attack Battalion, Latham, NY, would provide air support, if called. The Cobra would circle five miles away. Carrying a 20mm turret gun, armed with explosive and armor piercing rounds, it could disintegrate the house. Night vision goggles were issued to the senior NCOs in both teams. Peter was issued an M4 rifle. Ammunition was issued to each soldier one hour before the operation began. Aircraft were fueled and the flight crew loaded the Cobra’s ammunition. Fifteen minutes before launch, the Rangers completed equipment checks and put on their parachutes before entering the C130. A few minutes before takeoff, all were strapped in with Striker One’s team on the port side and Striker Two on the starboard side. The airplane would fly from south to north due to wind currents in the area, so Peter’s team would jump first. Each soldier had a headset communicator and each squad had a SINGGARS radio.
At precisely 0100 hours, the four 4700 horsepower turboprop engines on the C130 began turning sequentially. In less than five minutes the Hercules was beginning its taxi roll. The location of the house was programmed into GPS navigation systems aboard both aircraft. The C130 was cleared onto the active runway immediately. Troops were all sitting upright as the big plane accelerated fast with the light load, and only one third of the runway was needed before lifting off. The interior was dark except for dim red lights. The plane made a climbing turn to the left midway down the runway gaining altitude as it headed east over the ocean. The plan was to climb to 10,000 feet before starting a wide turning arc back toward the drop zone. It took about ten minutes to reach altitude then the pilot commenced a gentle two minute 150 degree turn ending with a heading of 030 degrees, perpendicular to the coastline. They continued the climb at one thousand feet per minute while making small corrections in their course to cross the coastline one mile south of the target.
Five miles from the coast, the “ready” light and horn were activated. The plane was level at twelve thousand feet when the ramp lowered. The inrush of cold air and the buffeting was exhilarating as each squad formed in a line. The first jump signal was given one mile from the coast, still over the water.
As Peter’s team jumped, there was a sensation of rising over a hill caused by the momentum changes from the plane’s forward motion conflicting with wind vortex plus gravity during free fall. Peter had worked with the pilots to calculate the jump point. Falling free, they streamlined, holding the drop velocity to around 120 mph.
They fell in formation for almost a minute. As a ritual, most had eaten cheese about an hour before to keep the acids from coming up in their mouths with less than one “G” acting on their bodies. The effective wind force was like facing into a blizzard. At 2000 feet, lanyards were pulled with a jolt as parachutes opened. The squad was equipped with small ram-air wing chutes using handgrips to steer. The small chutes allowed fast maneuvers, but were challenging to land in the dark on sand dunes. Flaring too high or too low could be painful.
They couldn’t see the ground until moments before impact. Peter was relieved when the fog thinned and he saw sand a few hundred feet below, not water. The squad landed safely, and it took a few minutes to assemble. Peter used the radio to contact Stokes, “Striker Two, this is Striker One, over.”
“Striker One this is Striker Two in position north of the target, over.”
“Roger Two. Rhino One (FBI team), this is Striker One, are you in position? Over.”
Lutz responded, “Striker this is Rhino, in position, over.”
“Roger Rhino. Cobra are you in position? Over.”
“Roger Striker, we’re hot, over.”
“Striker One, out.”
The two squads began moving slowly cautiously toward the house. Inside, Majiid and two of his men sat in the kitchen with only the stove light for illumination. They were having tea. “Why have I heard nothing?”
His men looked away as he continued, “Al Rahbar (my leader), he says nothing! Does he not know of our danger?”
It was rhetorical. He had had tried email and even the cellphone, but there was no response. The two men at the table with him sat silently. Another man was sitting in a chair by a window in the darkened front room. He was facing west, watching the road. One of the men in the kitchen, not wishing to show his fear and frustration, stepped outside periodically onto the back porch, facing the sea to check the unlit beach. All seemed quiet, but they were nervous after the capture of their comrades.
From their landing positions, soldiers were moving toward the house in the darkness. From aerial pictures they all knew it was a two-story cape with an attached garage on the south side, extending behind the house. The first goal of the mission was to verify the number of people in the house. As Peter’s squad approached, one soldier moved ahead, crouching by the garage. As he peered behind, there was a large window facing the ocean. He stayed low moving along the back. Resting on a knee, he peered inside with night vision goggles. “Striker One, I verify mil storage containers stacked in the garage, missiles suspected, out.”
The garage was set back closer to the ocean. The scout moved past the garage window to the corner by the house. One of Stokes’ team reached the house at the northwest corner. The first reported. “Strike team, be aware. Dim light from rear kitchen area.” He moved closer, next to the porch steps. Then the back door opened. The soldier dropped to the sand below the deck and slid partially underneath.
Slow heavy footsteps were coming toward the rail near his position. The person walking was a man, judging from the cadence and weight. The soldier, Corporal Jerry Harris, laid his M4 on the ground beside him and waited motionless. The two scouts still needed to verify if there were hostages
Harris lay still as the footsteps came closer, controlling his breathing. The man stopped a few feet from the rail, on the opposite side of the steps. In the darkness, Harris sensed him leaning on the railing. Something set on the deck was probably a weapon. They had expected AKs.
The man then stood upright and took cigarettes from his shirt pocket. When the match was lit, Harris was able to verify the AK47 and the man’s features.
Taking a drag from his cigarette, the bearded man stooped with elbows on the rail. He finished his smoke in less than two minutes. Both teams were holding in place, waiting for Harris to report. The smoker lit a second cigarette then walked closer to Harris, stepping down two steps leading to the sandy grass. He seated himself on the deck with his feet near Harris’ face. The AK was close by, lying on the deck. When he lit his third cigarette, Harris’ face was three feet from his right foot. He could smell the man through the acrid smoke. The sound of the ocean and the night breeze concealed his breathing as he remained motionless. His face was half-buried in the sand as he began inching his right knee forward, seeking a foothold. He was ready to pounce when a radio call came in. Although his earphone was implanted in his ear, the sound was detectible at short distances.
The man on deck didn’t move, but when Harris failed to report, a second call alerted the smoker. He stood o
n the step and reached for his AK as Harris sprang upward, landing his left shoulder in the man’s side. Harris twisted, wrapping his left arm around the man’s waist and grabbing the shirt with his right hand, throwing him from the steps. He hit the ground awkwardly. Harris leapt, planting his right elbow near the larynx. He recoiled and pummeled the man in the temple with the butt of his left hand hard enough to put the man in a coma. Staying low, Harris dragged the limp body behind the garage, where he bound hands and legs together with nylon tie wraps. He reported in before returning to the deck, crouching beside the steps as he placed the AK underneath. He grabbed his M4 and blew sand off the receiver, then cycled one round to be sure it was working freely. Moving in a low crouch, he stepped onto the deck and crossed to the rear door. Peering inside, he saw two bearded men sitting at the table.
Returning to the squad, Harris reported seeing two men in the rear of the house. The second scout reported that he was positioned at the far front corner of the house near the door. He thought there was someone by the front window. Peter radioed, “Striker Two, are you in position? Over.”
“Striker Two. Roger that, over.”
“Striker Two, advance to the side of the house, position two men at the
She could hear aircraft engine noise in the background and Peter’s response was quick, “Rachael, I have to go now, but you are in my heart every second. See you tomorrow! I love you.” The call ended.
She left the office feeling lonelier than she had before his call.
Cocked and locked
By ten o’clock Friday night, the breaching plan had been developed and coordinated with the FBI. The Feds would be positioned on the road leading to the house, out of direct line of sight. The Army team, composed of reserve Rangers, would parachute after dark on both sides of the house, landing about a quarter mile away. It was going to be a foggy night. Stokes, Striker Two, would lead six men to the north side, and Peter, Striker One, would have six on the south side. The back of the house faced east, toward the ocean. The FBI would blockade the road and cover the west side.
The airdrop would be from 12,000 feet from the C130 that had carried Peter from Andrews earlier that afternoon. On the ground, an AH-1 Super Cobra attack helicopter from the 142nd Attack Battalion, Latham, NY, would provide air support, if called. The Cobra would circle five miles away. Carrying a 20mm turret gun, armed with explosive and armor piercing rounds, it could disintegrate the house. Night vision goggles were issued to the senior NCOs in both teams. Peter was issued an M4 rifle. Ammunition was issued to each soldier one hour before the operation began. Aircraft were fueled and the flight crew loaded the Cobra’s ammunition. Fifteen minutes before launch, the Rangers completed equipment checks and put on their parachutes before entering the C130. A few minutes before takeoff, all were strapped in with Striker One’s team on the port side and Striker Two on the starboard side. The airplane would fly from south to north due to wind currents in the area, so Peter’s team would jump first. Each soldier had a headset communicator and each squad had a SINGGARS radio.
At precisely 0100 hours, the four 4700 horsepower turboprop engines on the C130 began turning sequentially. In less than five minutes the Hercules was beginning its taxi roll. The location of the house was programmed into GPS navigation systems aboard both aircraft. The C130 was cleared onto the active runway immediately. Troops were all sitting upright as the big plane accelerated fast with the light load, and only one third of the runway was needed before lifting off. The interior was dark except for dim red lights. The plane made a climbing turn to the left midway down the runway gaining altitude as it headed east over the ocean. The plan was to climb to 10,000 feet before starting a wide turning arc back toward the drop zone. It took about ten minutes to reach altitude then the pilot commenced a gentle two minute 150 degree turn ending with a heading of 030 degrees, perpendicular to the coastline. They continued the climb at one thousand feet per minute while making small corrections in their course to cross the coastline one mile south of the target.
Five miles from the coast, the “ready” light and horn were activated. The plane was level at twelve thousand feet when the ramp lowered. The inrush of cold air and the buffeting was exhilarating as each squad formed in a line. The first jump signal was given one mile from the coast, still over the water.
As Peter’s team jumped, there was a sensation of rising over a hill caused by the momentum changes from the plane’s forward motion conflicting with wind vortex plus gravity during free fall. Peter had worked with the pilots to calculate the jump point. Falling free, they streamlined, holding the drop velocity to around 120 mph.
They fell in formation for almost a minute. As a ritual, most had eaten cheese about an hour before to keep the acids from coming up in their mouths with less than one “G” acting on their bodies. The effective wind force was like facing into a blizzard. At 2000 feet, lanyards were pulled with a jolt as parachutes opened. The squad was equipped with small ram-air wing chutes using handgrips to steer. The small chutes allowed fast maneuvers, but were challenging to land in the dark on sand dunes. Flaring too high or too low could be painful.
They couldn’t see the ground until moments before impact. Peter was relieved when the fog thinned and he saw sand a few hundred feet below, not water. The squad landed safely, and it took a few minutes to assemble. Peter used the radio to contact Stokes, “Striker Two, this is Striker One, over.”
“Striker One this is Striker Two in position north of the target, over.”
“Roger Two. Rhino One (FBI team), this is Striker One, are you in position? Over.”
Lutz responded, “Striker this is Rhino, in position, over.”
“Roger Rhino. Cobra are you in position? Over.”
“Roger Striker, we’re hot, over.”
“Striker One, out.”
The two squads began moving slowly cautiously toward the house. Inside, Majiid and two of his men sat in the kitchen with only the stove light for illumination. They were having tea. “Why have I heard nothing?”
His men looked away as he continued, “Al Rahbar (my leader), he says nothing! Does he not know of our danger?”
It was rhetorical. He had had tried email and even the cellphone, but there was no response. The two men at the table with him sat silently. Another man was sitting in a chair by a window in the darkened front room. He was facing west, watching the road. One of the men in the kitchen, not wishing to show his fear and frustration, stepped outside periodically onto the back porch, facing the sea to check the unlit beach. All seemed quiet, but they were nervous after the capture of their comrades.
From their landing positions, soldiers were moving toward the house in the darkness. From aerial pictures they all knew it was a two-story cape with an attached garage on the south side, extending behind the house. The first goal of the mission was to verify the number of people in the house. As Peter’s squad approached, one soldier moved ahead, crouching by the garage. As he peered behind, there was a large window facing the ocean. He stayed low moving along the back. Resting on a knee, he peered inside with night vision goggles. “Striker One, I verify mil storage containers stacked in the garage, missiles suspected, out.”
The garage was set back closer to the ocean. The scout moved past the garage window to the corner by the house. One of Stokes’ team reached the house at the northwest corner. The first reported. “Strike team, be aware. Dim light from rear kitchen area.” He moved closer, next to the porch steps. Then the back door opened. The soldier dropped to the sand below the deck and slid partially underneath.
Slow heavy footsteps were coming toward the rail near his position. The person walking was a man, judging from the cadence and weight. The soldier, Corporal Jerry Harris, laid his M4 on the ground beside him and waited motionless. The two scouts still needed to verify if there were hostages
Harris lay still as the footsteps came closer, controlling his breathing. The man stopped a few feet from the rail, on the opposite side of the steps. In the darkness, Harris sensed him leaning on the railing. Something set on the deck was probably a weapon. They had expected AKs.
The man then stood upright and took cigarettes from his shirt pocket. When the match was lit, Harris was able to verify the AK47 and the man’s features.
Taking a drag from his cigarette, the bearded man stooped with elbows on the rail. He finished his smoke in less than two minutes. Both teams were holding in place, waiting for Harris to report. The smoker lit a second cigarette then walked closer to Harris, stepping down two steps leading to the sandy grass. He seated himself on the deck with his feet near Harris’ face. The AK was close by, lying on the deck. When he lit his third cigarette, Harris’ face was three feet from his right foot. He could smell the man through the acrid smoke. The sound of the ocean and the night breeze concealed his breathing as he remained motionless. His face was half-buried in the sand as he began inching his right knee forward, seeking a foothold. He was ready to pounce when a radio call came in. Although his earphone was implanted in his ear, the sound was detectible at short distances.
The man on deck didn’t move, but when Harris failed to report, a second call alerted the smoker. He stood o
Returning to the squad, Harris reported seeing two men in the rear of the house. The second scout reported that he was positioned at the far front corner of the house near the door. He thought there was someone by the front window. Peter radioed, “Striker Two, are you in position? Over.”
“Striker Two. Roger that, over.”
“Striker Two, advance to the side of the house, position two men at the