Chapter 10

Desert Shield had been building up for a while, motivated by the western world's ethical determination that Saadam Hussein wasn't going to acquire more oil than the Saudi royal family. (Yeah, I know ... he's a rat bastard, ego-maniacal despot with no care or concern for the people he was supposed to have been elected to serve. Name me four heads of state that aren't. Go ahead ... I'll wait.)

The people in charge of the operation had every modern intelligence advantage you could possibly want in a combat theatre. Satellite pictures, infra-red imagery, GPS transponders, real-time computer assisted communications with units as small as a squad. Generals had never had it so good in the history of human conflict. But ... they still needed someone to look at all the nifty pictures and images and reports and tell them what the hell it meant in terms they could understand.

It has always amazed me that the men, and occasionally women, making the "Big Picture" decisions are not the ones who can actually see the "Big Picture". Those people are usually lower ranking, ignored except in an emergency, and then shoved back into their boxes when the crisis is over, types of people.

And I was about to join their ranks. I wasn't asked if I wanted to. My interests, concerns and desires were never taken into account. Maybe they didn't think I had any.

Fact is, when I wasn't working I spent most of my time at various libraries. I didn't watch TV, didn't go to movies or concerts, didn't hang out in bars or clubs, didn't have friends or lovers ... the list of things I didn't do or have was nearly endless. I did go to the gym, I ran, sometimes for hours but never in competition. I went to the range once a month and kept my weapons qualifications current, and I'd spend hours and hours reading.

The day after my dual shootings I was called into my supervisor's office. With him was Agent Watters and a Lt. Colonel in his dress greens, complete with ribbons, medals and all the shiny stuff the Army likes to us to wear, most of it serving only to announce to other Army types what unit you belong to. Like a cattle brand, but much more complicated and decorative.

The Lt. Col., a stocky, bull necked guy in his early thirties with intense brown eyes and an nose that looked like it had been broken more than once, sat quietly while my boss, Art Hodgekins took control of the meeting.

"Blacktower, you are being transferred, effective as of noon today, to Army Intelligence. Agent Watters recommended and authorized this transfer based on your actions yesterday. I want you to know that this not in any way a disciplinary action."

I recognized my cue and delivered my line. "Yes sir."

Watters stood up paced a few steps. "Blacktower, you have demonstrated certain skills and abilities that are not only rare, but that will be invaluable to the Army shortly. There will be a war with Iraq and it's going to happen soon. Intel is going to need people on the ground who can gather and analyze data quickly and then act on it with a minimum amount of oversight. You have a reputation for being one of the finest interviewers in the CID, as well as an excellent analyst. Combine that with what I witnessed yesterday and I think it would be a terrible waste of talent not to have you on the ground with our forces when the fighting starts."

I flinched a bit when he used the word talent, but otherwise remained silent and motionless.

The Lt. Col. finally spoke up. "Are you really as good a shot as Agent Watters tells me, or were you just lucky?"

I looked over at him. "I'm rated Expert with rifle and pistol sir."

"I can read your files and get that info. All that tells me is that you can hit paper targets. I want to know how you do against people."

I was tempted to link with the man, but I resisted, for the moment.

"Yesterday was the first time I've ever shot a human with the intent to kill. I learned to hunt as a young boy, but prior to yesterday the only other living thing I've shot and killed was a deer."

"You fired two rounds yesterday, correct?" the Lt. Col. asked.

"No sir, four. One that killed Lt. Brady, two into the ballistics barrel at the police station, and one that killed the man inside the police station."

"I stand corrected. Four rounds fired. My point is, you fired one round at each man and each round was fatal. Why only one round per man?"

"One was all that was necessary sir."

There was a prolonged silence in the room. The Lt. Col. looked over to Agent Watters for a moment.

"I'd like you gentlemen to come with me down to the firing range. I would appreciate seeing Agent Blacktower fire a couple of rounds from a rifle, before I'm willing to have him attached to my unit."

"Of course Colonel." Hodgekins said.

The four of us went down to the CID's underground firing range and Hodgekins, Watters and I picked up earplugs and a couple of targets and headed for the far end where the extended rifle pits were located. The Lt. Col. left us briefly and went to the Armory Locker, returning with a long travel case. He set it on a table back behind the firing line and proceeded to unlock and open it.

"This is the 7.62mm C-75 special forces rifle, once used by the armed forces of Spain. This weapon uses a manually operated Mauser bolt-action. It is equipped with iron sights and has telescope mounts machined into the receiver to allow for the mounting of electro-optic or optic sights. The weapon weighs 8.14 pounds. An experienced sniper can deliver effective fire out to 1,500 meters using special Match ammunition. The standard Army sniper weapon is the M24, but I prefer this. It's lighter and has greater reach."

He sounded like he was delivering a lecture to a class of new boots. He then showed me how the weapon functioned, safety, loading and sight adjustment. He hooked one of the paper silhouette targets to the track and ran it out a little more than half-way down the length of the lane, about three hundred yards. The Lt. Col. removed his jacket and tossed it on the open case. Then laying down and assuming the official prone firing position he opened the bolt, inserted a single round and closed the bolt. He took fifteen seconds to sight and then fired the round. I was watching the target and saw a hole appear in the center of the chest area.

"Hit, dead center of the chest." I called out. He grunted slightly, opened the bolt ejecting the casing and inserted a second round. Ten seconds and he fired again. A second hole appeared not more than half an inch to the left of the first.

"Hit, half inch left of first." I announced. Second casing was ejected and a third went in. Ten seconds and he fired. The third hole was a little higher and a little farther from the first, maybe two-thirds of an inch.

"Hit, two-thirds above first."

The Lt. Col. got to his feet and stepped behind the firing line.

"You have very good eyes, Blacktower. Your medical files make mention of that, but words on paper can't begin to describe the reality of seeing it demonstrated."

"Thank you sir. You're an excellent shot."

"I should be, I'm a graduate of Sniper School."

He handed me the rifle and three rounds.

"In the head please, Sergeant Blacktower."

This was the first time in a couple of years anyone had addressed me by my actual rank. It was a bit odd.

I stepped over the firing line. He hadn't specified what position I should assume to fire, so I took the one I felt most comfortable with. Standing with my left shoulder towards the target I inserted one round into the chamber and closed the bolt, tucked the rifle butt into my right shoulder, lined the cross hairs of the scope on the target's head and fired the first round. Not taking the rifle out of position, I rolled the bolt up and back, ejecting the brass and inserting the new round, jacked the bolt forward and locked it down, reclaimed the target and fired, rolled the bolt, ejected, inserted, jacked and locked, sighted and fired the last round, rolled the bolt back, ejected the brass, turned and went back behind the firing line. I offered the rifle to the Lt. Col. but he indicated that I should hang onto it.

"How did you do, Sergeant?" he asked conversationally.

"Three hits in the head Colonel, maybe three and a half inches apart." I told him. He nodded and hit the button to retrieve the target. When the paper target had been removed, he Watters and Hodgekins spent a few minutes examining and talking amongst themselves. Hodgekins got a bit animated briefly, but Watters and the Lt. Col. overrode whatever it was he was objecting to. The Lt. Col. took a small cellular phone, the first one I'd ever seen, from his jacket and made a quick call.

Minutes later two soldiers in BDUs (Battle Dress Uniforms) entered the range, dragging a pig between them on a rope leash. The two sergeants nodded to the Lt. Col. and he motioned down the firing range. They then maneuvered their charge down the lane. They went all the way down, five hundred yards and tied the rope to a ring in the floor. They came running back at double time and took up 'at ease' positions behind the Lt. Col.

"One last test, Sergeant Blacktower." He handed me one round. "Kill the pig."

I looked him in the eyes.

"Colonel, I do not kill for sport or amusement."

He looked right back at me, never blinking.

"For the record, neither do I. That animal is going to be the guest of honor at a barbeque tomorrow for my unit before we ship out to Saudi Arabia. One way or another, it's going to die. I'd like you to kill it for us."

I nodded my acceptance, stepped over the firing line, inserted the round and locked the bolt. Assuming the off-hand position again I lined the cross hairs on the pig's head and linked to the animal.

Felt the breathing, the heart beating, hunger, thirst, confusion, but no fear. The scope's sights were not quite right; I'd discovered that from watching my shots earlier, all part of the Lt. Col.'s testing process. They were good enough for this. I sent the round thru the pig's eye as soon as it shifted towards me. It dropped to the floor like a bag of wet laundry. I felt it die. It was mostly painless and quick. I snapped the link as soon as soon as I felt it's heart stop.

I snapped open the bolt and ejected the brass, turned on my heel and walked back to the Lt. Col. and handed him the rifle. He gestured to one of his men, who took off like a shot down the firing lane towards the pig.

I stood there waiting, while his troop verified the kill and came running back.

"Entered the left eye, thru the brain and exited just back of the right ear Colonel." he reported.

The Lt. Colonel's face gave the impression that a missing piece of a puzzle had just fallen in place for him. He nodded to Watters and Hodgekins.

"Sergeant Blacktower is acceptable." He turned to me. "I'll have my second in command meet you here tomorrow at 0900. He'll escort you out to us."

He returned the rifle to the case and locked it up. Handing it to one of his men, he stopped, put his jacket back on and buttoned it up.

"I have men on the way now to remove the pig and clean up. If you would have them brought down here it would be appreciated."

"Of course Colonel. Good luck to you and your men."

"Thank you sir." He and his men left. I stood there on the range with my ex-boss and an upper level Agent Supervisor.

"You'll be spending the rest of the day clearing out your desk and transferring whatever cases you were working on to other agents, Sergeant. When you've finished that, go to Personnel and get your Emergency Notification data updated. We'll have your files and orders ready for you by 1700." Hodgekins informed me. Then he left.

Watters stared at me for a moment then slapped me on the shoulder, as if we were old friends.

"Good luck to you, Sergeant Blacktower. When this is over, if you want, you'll be more than welcome to come back. Keep your eyes open and your head down." Then he left and I was alone.

I cleaned up my paperwork and case files, updated all my emergency notification data (I puzzled over who should be told if anything happened to me and the only one I thought might care, even a little bit, was my sister. So I put down her name and my father's address. I even listed her as the beneficiary of my Serviceman's Life Insurance.) and at 1630 I collected my personnel and financial files along with twenty copies of my transfer orders. I turned in my CID credentials and the Glock.

The next morning I was met out front by a Captain Grosse, who took me to their staging area, and I was introduced to the members of the unit, all thirty of them. I was shown to where I'd be bunking until we shipped out, then was hauled over to supply and provided with a new issue of desert BDUs, boots, skivvies, and all the combat gear I hadn't needed as a CID agent. After that I handed in all my files to their admin support unit, formally reported to the Lt. Col. (his name I learned at last was John Erickson) who gave me the traditional welcoming speech, then was passed off to the Sergeant Major. He gave me the nickel tour and we ended up at the barbeque I'd killed the pig for.

There was eating, lots of drinking, loud talk and laughter. This unit had been together for a while, so they were all comfortable with one another. I was the outsider. They tried to make me welcome. I spent most of my time moving around, eating some, drinking less, and linking with each and every person there. I wanted to get an idea who I could trust and some sense of the people I was going off to war with.

Most were older than I was; late twenties or more. Lots of experience, trust and good will in this bunch and confidence was not something any of them lacked.

I could work with these people. Like I had a lot of choice; I'd been volunteered.

The party broke up around 2200 and we went off to sack out. We were shipping out the next morning for Saudi Arabia.

Desert Shield was the build up for the war that was coming. There were troops from several different countries involved, but the intel work like we were doing was being conducted almost exclusively on the ground by the U.S. and Britain. What were we there for? To identify the command and control of deployed Iraqi forces mostly, sometimes identifying patterns of movement among the military high command. How did we do that? By using satellite images, maps and locals familiar with the areas to give us some idea of where the enemy units were, where they might be heading ... and then we had to take that data and 'acquire' some Iraqis to fill in the holes. Big Picture stuff.