Unification

It was a long couple of hours of planning and gearing up before getting off the transport plane to Afghanistan. The operation was just as Paul explained it back at home. I slept pretty much the whole way, with the last hour being a wake-up call and preparation. There were Rangers on the plane with us, as well as O’Hara, Paul, and Commander Harrison. I looked around for Captain Flint and Harrison II, but they were nowhere to be found...just a bunch of Air Force guys, SEALs and Rangers. I saw a kid look over at me, and approached me. He looked no older than 25, with a Sergeant rank patch on his chest. He was in a full combat loadout, and he looked like he carries just as much as I did on any normal operation.

“SEAL, we’re almost in Afghanistan. We’re operating in the mountains, and we’re gonna have a hell of a time. The government is sending us something to help us out, but we arent sure what it is yet. I’m Sergeant Dane, and i’ll give you the run-down on how this op will work if you haven’t heard already.” Sergeant Dane offers.

“Nah man, im good to go. I was briefed a long time ago.” I reply.

“Right on! We’re just finishing up with planning, and should be on the ground in about 10 minutes.” Sergeant Dane said.

Only a minute or two later, the landing gear on the plane began opening and getting into position for the plane to land. I look over towards Sergeant Dane, who looked back at me in confusion. It was obvious he slept some of the way as well, and lost track of time upon waking up.

“You lying piece of s**t.” I say.

Sergeant Dane replies with a temporary laugh.

The Air Force crew began walking their way to the cargo bay where we were stationed to begin preparations for landing. One of them was a scrawny Captain, he must have been the crew chief. He had a sense of leadership in him, but no muscle at all...at least, from what I saw.

“Alright guys, if you don’t plan on face planting into the floor when this bird lands, I suggest you get strapped in, we’re landing in three minutes!” The crew chief said.

“I face planted into the wall before!” I yell.

“Did you like it?” The Captain replied.

“No.”

“Exactly, strap your a*s in!”

Everyone breaks out laughing while moving to get strapped into their respective seats. There was more than enough seats left over for another platoon of soldiers, and the Air Force crew was awesome. This trip to Afghanistan was going pretty well so far. I strapped in to some random seat that was placed nearby the threshold to the cockpit. Paul strapped in next to me, then took out the earbuds to his iPod and stowed them in his pocket.

“Hey, at least we aren’t crash landing this time, right?” Paul said with a smile.

“You dont need to tell me twice.” I chuckle. “No rockets this time.”

“Hey, how’s your RDG? Is it working for ya?” Paul asks, curiously.

“Yeah man, I love this thing, its f****n awesome.”

“It’s comfortable?”

“Better than your NWU” I giggle.

Paul looks at me with both disgust and sarcasm, indicating that he wished he could be wearing his RDG right now. Everyone else in that time got strapped in as well, as the sound of the planes engines grew louder and louder, indicating that we were merely 10 seconds from landing. The jolt of the plane as its landing gear hit the ground was a little dizzying, but it wasnt too bad. The plane took forever to stop, with its engines roaring at maximum speed to compensate for the rolling speed of the plane to make a smooth landing. The crew chief came in and hung on to a metal pole placed on either side of the threshold, it seemed as though he couldn’t hold himself in place even if he was holding on like it was his child. We were pushed and pulled a few times while the plane was still slowing down, but finally, the plane came to a smooth stop at the end of the runway at Bagram Air Force Base. We all unstrapped and grabbed our gear, war bags, radios, weapons, and all. The cargo bay door slowly creaked open, and the morning sunlight of Afghanistan started pouring in, along with its chilling early morning winds. The Commanding Officer of Bagram greeted us, and walked us through the operation. He was a full bird Colonel in an Air Force ABU. He looked nothing like the rest of the Air Force clones. The fitting description for him was a Floridian white boy with a noticeable tan and a fine streak of sideburn hair stretching to the middle of his ears. He was about average height and build, definitely more toned than the crew chief on the plane. looked at his name tape, and it said “Jackson”.

“Good morning ladies, welcome to Bagram Air Force Base. Im the Commanding Officer here, and you answer to me, got it?” He starts.

“What if we don’t want to?” O’Hara yelled from the back.

“Well, thats tough s**t, isn’t it?” Colonel Jackson smiled.

Colonel Jackson looked kinda cool, but he wasn’t the guy to go to when you needed to talk to someone. He walked us into the base itself, where there was a small command center no wider than 20 feet. This small space was occupied by 12 Airmen, 8 enlisted and 4 officers, including Colonel Jackson, and had what looked like next to 25 monitors, each screen projecting feed from drones, AC-130 gunships, attack helicopters, and footmobile helmet cams. There was endless talking within the command center, and even more radio traffic. Nobody in there looked at the same monitor for more than 3 seconds at a time.

“This is the command center, and only the guys who are stationed there are allowed in. You guys leave on your op in a few hours, I trust you all know where you’re going?” the Colonel asks.

“Yes sir” we all reply.

“Mess hall is to your left, and the lounge is just beyond that. Walk around if you want, we’ll fetch you when its come to go.” he finishes.

Colonel Jackson heads to the command center and moves a curtain to cover the front of the center so the guys inside wouldn’t be distracted. Everyone went their separate ways, Paul and I moving quickly to the mess hall. When we busted through the doors leading to it, we instantly had heaven in our eyes. Everything a sailor could ever ask for is right here. The mess hall was clean and very shiny, all of the tables there were assorted evenly to sit any number of people from 4-12, and all of the food there was free to take.

“You know, people always say the Air Force has the best food.” Paul whispers to me.

“Would you like to find out if thats really true?” I offer.

We both look at each other for a minute, then quickly walk to the plates where we each got one. Then, over where the food was, the chefs were happily cooking the food they were about to serve. Everything that was available to take was fresh off the stove and hot as all hell, and assorted evenly in alphabetical order. the pots were always full, and the food that was placed in them looked heavenly. There was practically nobody here, which bothered me the most. I saw a few American and Russian Airmen sitting in separate tables, and even fewer British infantry. These guys must be coalition forces on break.

“Im getting some food, then maybe talk with some Russians.” I reply, dashing off to cover my plate.

“Wait for me!” I heard Paul say.

The last thing I was doing was waiting for him. I saw a clear assortment of meat ranging from sausage to roasted turkey, with a perfect brown color to its skin. I quickly filled my plate with sausage, a few pieces of pizza, and mashed potatoes. The mashed potatoes were a golden color, with some herbal seasoning and butter scattered around it. The pizza looked exactly like the kind you see on commercials, everything was cooked to perfection...so far. I turned around to see a table that sat 4, all alone in the center of the mess hall. Paul and I rushed on over to the lone table and took our seats, where we immediately began eating the food that was available to us. it tasted just as good as it looked, if not better. The sausage was perfectly crispy, yet spicy and hydrated in grease. It tasted like a real american hot dog with a little more grease and some peppers on the inside. The sausage was consumed in minutes, Paul finishing his before me. There were more Air Force guys walking in to the mess hall, all of them laughing and having a good time, with a handful of Russians and Brits at their side. One lone Russian came walking through the entrance. He was in a gray flight suit that had only one Russian flag patch sewn on the sleeve, and his last name on his chest, I couldn’t read cyrillic. He came walking down to our table and took a seat next to Paul.

“Hello gentlemen.” The Russian Airman said.

His Russian accent was powerful, I almost couldn’t understand him if I didn’t pay enough attention. He still looked like a kid, probably early 20’s. His hair was brown, and had a clean buzz cut, with no sideburns at all. He had a single scar on his face that traced from his eyebrow to the bottom of his left eye, it wasn’t very long at all. He had a smile like you would see on celebrity TV shows in America and his facial features were solid. He was a disciplined kid.

“Hey, man.” Paul replies.

“You are part of the US Army?” He asks.

I chuckle a little bit. “No, we’re a part of their Navy.”

“Oh, oh, you must be the SEALs we hear about, da?” He guesses.

“Yes, that would be us.” Paul said.

“Ohhh, I heard many great things about you men. What you do for your country is great, yes, very great.”

“Thanks. Hey, whats your name?” I ask.

“Oh, I forgot to introduce myself.” He chuckles. “I am Dimitri Yukovichsky, representing Archangel of the motherland.”

Paul looks at me in 100% confusion. “Archangel of the motherland?”

Dimitri and I laugh a little bit. “Archangel is a city in Russia.” I answer for him.

“Yes, yes it is! You are quite good!” Dimitri almost yells in excitement.

Dimitri looks at the food placed on our table. “The food is good, yes?”

“Yes it really is, you should try some!” Paul exclaims.

“Maybe later, I have a flying exercise to do, so I want to keep my stomach clear in case I might regurgitate in flight, you know what i’m saying?” Dimitri explained.

“You’re a part of an air unit? I thought you were a helicopter pilot, what unit are you in with the Russians?” I ask, curious to know what he was a part of.

“The newly formed 21st Blazing Angels.” Dimitri further explained.

“That sounds intense. Is the unit special?” Paul asks.

Paul tried to finish his meal as fast as he could so he could listen to Dimitri, while I took the time I had earlier to completely finish my food. I was very interested by what Dimitri had to say about the unit he was in.

“Well...this unit is special. We do our operations where there is darkness, either very early morning or late night. We do things like precision bombing and dogfighting, we are the best of the Russian Air Force. I guess you could say it is equivalent to your SEAL training.” Dimitri finishes.

His phone rang right afterward, he was pretty quick in taking it out and examining it. Thereafter, he got up and took his leave. “Time for some dogfighting!” He laughs.

We look at Dimitri walking away, then look at each other when he left the mess hall. “He’s an interesting kid.”

Paul and I felt our phones vibrate. It was a text from O’Hara, and we needed to be in the briefing room. Paul finished the last of his food as we walked up to the trash cans to place our trays on top of. With that, we rushed out of the mess hall and past the Command Center, where we saw the door to the briefing room adjacent to it. We busted through the doors, where Captain Flint was waiting for us, standing next to a table with two vests placed next to each other. Captain Flint looks at his watch for a second, and in that second, I knew we were late for the brief.

He looks back up at us. “You two are thirteen seconds late. Unacceptable. Put these on.” He orders.

Captain Flint points toward the vests that were presented on the table. He picks one up with one hand, and the other vest with his other hand. He throws his arms forward, indicating that we should take the vests from him. Picking them up, they felt like they weighed 100 pounds, if not more. Putting on the vests felt even heavier, and we made sure they were strapped in tight and secure. These things were heavy, very noticeable, and extremely buffed.

“Now drop for sixty push-ups.” Captain Flint orders.

“F**k…” Paul whispers.

“Seventy, in the torture chamber.” Captain Flint adds.

Paul knew then to say nothing more. We looked at each other like this was our death scene.

“You have two minutes, beat it.”

“Yes sir” we both replied.

Paul and I ran to the torture chamber, which is where US Air Force aircraft are put to the test through extreme weather conditions, from -20 to 160 degrees Fahrenheit. The torture chamber was recently used to test an aircraft at 155, so they put the temperature to single digits to cool it down. There were cameras everywhere, we knew Captain Flint was watching us.

“No better time than the present” I advise.

“Agreed.” Paul replies.

Paul and I drop to the push-up position, the bone chilling aura of the frozen air shooting all through my body, my hands going numb from constant contact to the metal floor, and my arms getting very sore from the constant pushing of my body weight plus the other 100 pounds on my chest. I felt like I was losing feeling in my arms and hands, replaced by pins and needles that shocked my forearms and shoulder blades. It felt like they were shocking me continuously, with seemingly no end. a single minute had already passed, and we had only done 50, but it felt like an eternity. I heard Paul starting to groan of his aching pain, and I felt my face getting red and inflated. Some of the Air Force guys were lining up at windows to watch us push our body weight and more in the torture chamber, which had not gotten any warmer since we entered. by the time we hit 60 push-ups, and another 30 seconds later, I lost all feeling in my arms and hands, and felt like I couldn’t do any more. Each push-up seemed to be going further and further down than normal, and going back up was excruciating. I managed to push through the remaining number of push-ups, and sprinted back to the briefing room, Paul following swiftly behind me. We blasted through the doors to the briefing room and tore off the vests. In that time frame of 5 seconds, Captain Flint, O’Hara, Harrison II, and the other SEAL teams watched our every move. We stood in front of Captain Flint, unable to hold our position of attention for much longer.

Captain flint studies us for a little bit, then speaks. “At ease.”

Instantly, we both broke out of attention and held ourselves up by placing our hands on our knees, trying to catch our breath. My breathing turned into wheezing, as did Pauls, and our talking abilities were slurred. We went to take a seat at a nearby table, while Captain Flint walked back to a s****y government-issued laptop that sat atop a podium next to a projection screen. Standing behind this laptop, he turned on the projection monitor, which revealed a PowerPoint that was titled “OpRedWings.exe”. Onward to the more sophisticated title screens, the title had shown the words “Operation Red Wings” placed at the top of the screen. A boring, vast white background was placed in cosmetics to the slide.

Captain Flint begins briefing. “This is called Operation Red Wings, and you guys are the last to hear about it.” He starts.

Each of us groan in disbelief, we’re always the last to hear about anything, especially operation briefings. “Cry me a river. This has been happening for as long as we’ve been alive, get used to it.” Captain Flint interrupted.

The door behind us had instantly opened after Captain Flint had finished speaking. The Rangers had just returned from live fire exercises and helicopter insertion training. The ones involved in this operation had entered the briefing room in a full combat loadout.

“Gentlemen, welcome. Take a seat, we just started the briefing” Captain Flint adds.

Each Ranger wastes no time in finding a seat. There were 15 of them, and they each sat together in groups of 5. They must have recognized the sheer power of the beast that stood before them.

“Again...this is Operation Red Wings, and this op will consist of four squads of Rangers led by a SEAL. There are five SEALs here, which means each of the Rangers will be divided into five groups of three, command authority is immediately given to the SEAL of the group. UNDERSTAND?” Captain Flint yells, slamming his god hand into the podium, waking up the weary Rangers who thought they could sleep in front of this man.

“Yes sir!!” They all scream.

“Good. Now, each team will break off into 3 different sections of Afghanistan, the size of the area will require more squads. Here is how this will work. The three areas of Afghanistan are Mountain, Desert, and Dead Zone.” Captain Flint pauses. “Locksmith and Tick will be operating in the Mountain region of Afghanistan, specifically the Takur Ghar mountain range, the coldest and highest elevated part in all of Afghanistan. With them will be a combined total of six Rangers, Sergeant Dane, Privates Greer and Nicholas, PFC Fallarbor, Corporal Bay, and Specialist Jackson. Locksmith will be taking Sergeant Dane, Specialist Jackson, and Private Greer to the northern part of Takur Ghar.” he finishes.

Captain Flint pauses to scroll through to the next slide, revealing a map nearly covered in color-coded elevation points and rally points. “Locksmith and his team will be conducting recon on an enemy encampment just four miles south of their insertion point, then moving on through the mountains to render inoperable any and all other enemy encampments that are within your fifty mile operating range. We have reports of enemy indirect firepower and artillery systems, make sure they’re taken care of. Tick and his team are riding in the same helicopter as Locksmith, but they will get off only one mile further north from them, providing sniper fire where they see the operators conducting recon. When tick and his team are not giving sniper fire, they are keeping the mountains clear of enemy signatures by hunting down and eliminating any and all enemy forces that are in their sights, both teams have execute authority until further notice. Be warned that this is a level 2 threat, intel suggests that Folami Baas’s minions are hiding an unarmed nuclear weapon somewhere in Takur Ghar, but our drone was shot down, so we were not able to further investigate. Both teams are spending three long days up there, so pack accordingly. Gunship support and allied QRF is out of the question, you’ll have to rely on the slim to nothing chance of an allies gunship squadron casually flying by if you need that kind of support. Any questions?”

“No sir.” We simultaneously respond.

“Good. You all leave at 1940 hours. Get the f**k out of my briefing room.” Captain Flint orders.

My Rangers and I rushed out of the room and straight to the armory, Tick and HIS Rangers went to the helipad for some reason. We began packing for the operation, big packs full of MREs and blankets for the cold. I was the first to finish packing, with enough room in my pack left over for about three boxes of Machine Gun ammo after doing the Ranger Roll, a tactical packing method. I looked over to the other Rangers, who are still scrambling to get the food in their packs. I went over to the weapons storage room and waited for the man behind the counter to come to my aid. When he busted through the door, he was dressed in rag-tag jeans, flip-flops, and a tan Army shirt, with an OD green ball cap that had an olive green american flag patch on it. His bushy brown beard suggested he was Special Forces.

“Whatcha need, bud?” The man said.

“My SCAR.” I replied.

“Did you file it to get skinned?”

“Yes, sir.” I replied.

“Yeah, man, it came back from the shops not too long ago. Wait here, i’ll get it for ya.” He finishes.

The man leaves as quick as he came in, back through the plain wooden door he came through previously. I turned my back to the shop for a minute, where I saw Specialist Jackson already standing there in front of me. How he came through the door unnoticed and undetected is beyond me.

I flinched back for a minute at the sudden sight of him. “HOLY SH-” I exclaim.

“Oh, did I scare you? Sorry, just wondering if we should be bringing explosives.” the Specialist said.

I calmed down a bit and relaxed. I thought the process over, then gave him the answer he wanted. “We’re probably going to be under the threat of hidden explosives within the camps, and other vehicles that could be a part of an enemy QRF stationed not too far from each of the camps. We should probably be packing rockets, specifically a SMAW. A couple of plastic explosive charges and a few anti-personnel mines would come in handy if we ever need to booby trap someone. Bring enough ammo to last ten minutes, we’re going to be there for about three days, understand?”

“Yes sir.” He finishes. he turns with an about face, and walks out the door.

“Here’s your rifle, man.” The Armorer said.

I looked behind me to see my SCAR, fully embedded in a brand new A-TACS desert camo. I imagined the desert sand of Afghanistan and compared it to the skin of the rifle I was holding. After extended observation, I came to a final conclusion.

“If I ever go there, I better not drop this thing.” I whisper to myself.

I sling my rifle over my shoulder and walk away from the Armory. I thanked the man for his services, and exited through the door, where I found all of my Rangers fully packed and ready to go. I looked at all of them like they all had three heads, and I couldn’t believe that they finished packing already if it took them that long to pack the food correctly.

“You guys realize its going to be a long time before we go out? Its only 1600.” I assure.

“yeah, we know.” Said Sergeant Dane “Just in better preparation for the operation if it comes to us early.”

I liked these guys, and I also knew that this was going to be a very long and very brutal three days ahead of us.

Author's Note

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