Chapter 6

The next several weeks went by pretty uneventful. Smiley and a small crew flew down to South Africa to get Land Rover parts and came back to tell Webb that the government of SA respectfully requests that we do not return after they found out where the parts were being shipped to. Webb just sort of chuckled at that and pulled out his little 'black book' and went through the pages before giving Smiley a couple of phone numbers to call. Ed and I sat around wasting time and drinking a lot of coffee.

This was the week that the cadre was to start airmobile training. They had come along pretty good; most of them had some training from the former governments, France and Belgium so they had the basics down. Webb had given me the assignment to start working with Captain Mubassa and form a quick reaction force (QRF) to handle border incursions. DRC had suffered through several such incursions in the past and the big man himself had passed word down that he wanted it stopped, immediately. Mubassa had handpicked a few junior officers to accompany me to the NW corner of the country, a little town called Goma where most of the problems were.

Goma was just a little dirt/mud hut town that straddled the road that went to Uganda. It was mostly make-work and I knew it. Ed was going along to keep an eye on things. Captain Ryan had chopped us a Puma and a Hughes 500 for air support and observation.

We didn't see much of Dickerson or his boys but they were there. You would get that itchy feeling and sure enough, they would appear at the next corner or be parked alongside the road. I made an effort to not flip them the bird when I saw them.

The primary goal of the operation was to strengthen the border security in and around Goma, which was a total joke. The border was nothing but a line of square, concrete blocks set in a line that stretched off into the distance. No fence, no gate, no customs or entry building. Goma was probably half sitting inside Uganda for all we knew. The 1800 treaty that set the borders for the continent was not even enforced and Uganda coveted the mineral rich land of its western neighbor. We flew in that afternoon and set up just outside of town. Captain Hopper and two other pilots were our aircrew. Hopper was an excellent pilot and had cut his teeth on the Hughes. I went up with him in the Hughes to get a lay of the land and get the orientation of the map. We ended up zipping down the canyons and rubbing the hilltops as he flew NOE for the entire flight. I'm sure he tried to get me sick because everytime I would look down at the map he would do a pop up that made my stomach sink to my boots.

I kept a straight face and just acted like nothing happened. After an hour of these antics, we headed back. I had the map set up with the landmarks and we had scouted several LZs that we could use to bring in supplies or reinforcements.

I called Webb and gave him a sitrep and he assured me that the supplies and troops were on their way at first light. He also told me that Mubassa had informed him that his brother in law, Major Mayala, was in the area with a heavy armor company and had artillery attached to them. They would give us support if we needed it as DRC kept them in the area as a deterrent to Uganda mounting a full invasion.

Ed and I wandered into town and walked around checking things out. The people mostly stared and some women actually took their kids inside. There might have been two working cars in the entire town, which had a population of around 600. They had running water and some telephone service, unreliable at best. Ed was making notes about what would be needed to base a unit here. He mentioned that something had to be done about the water and the medical. I just nodded and watched as the people here lived a simple life yet just a few miles away was an European mining operation that mined industrial diamonds. Most of the males in town worked there and were paid very little for the long hours. Just before sundown, a truck came roaring along the dirt track from Uganda and sped into town. I was bringing up my rifle when Ed stopped me. It was a civilian truck not military. I watched as it slid to a stop in the center of town and the people ran to it. The back was open and several people began trading with the townspeople. Amazing. What they didn't have, which was quite a bit, they traded a couple nights a week with a supplier from Uganda.

The next morning, the troops were flown in and the establishment of a forward support base began in earnest. The buildings were prefab and flown in by Chinook later that same day. The area had been selected for its elevation and clear fields of fire around the perimeter. We spent the next day and a half assembling the buildings and starting on the fence. It was like putting together a huge erector set. The company that sold us the buildings was based in Germany and had done several contracts around the world and I was mildly surprised that they had provided housing units to Costa Rica.

The buildings were up and finished by the end of the second day and all that was left was hooking up the generators and making sure everyone was aware of the POL site and the strict no smoking around it. We took the third day off and wandered around the camp meeting and greeting the troops. Most spoke French or broken English so communication was not difficult. I was walking around the motor pool area looking at the Hummers that we had and thinking about the weapons configurations when Ed walked up.

He was quiet for a time then finally said something. He asked me how I was doing. I replied as to how did he think I was doing. He told me that he had never lost anyone in combat and went on to tell me that he had been in the Air Force assigned to CCT/FO before transferring to the Air Police and then getting out and joining Seattle PD SWAT. I knew he was a local guy but had no idea he had worked in the same city as I had when I was with FedEx.

We called it a night after informing the platoon leaders of a meeting after breakfast. It was quiet out here but I'm sure that would change.

Just after first light, we stood to, did PT then broke up for breakfast. Ed and I would be acting officers for the duration of the training. We were to be simulated majors so that the chain of command would flow smoothly. After chow, we assembled the troops and told them to get their gear and fall in within 20minutes at the motor pool.

Ed moved off that way and I took the platoon leaders into the hooch that was designated the head shed. I had maps of the area and led them through the movements and what was to occur at each point that we would stop at. I went slow and made sure that everyone understand exactly what was to happen and how it was to be done. Captain Hopper would provide us with overhead cover and scout; the other two pilots were to be close to the Puma in the event that we needed a medical evac for any injuries. (Plan ahead just in case.) Two platoons would remain behind, one to continue work on the perimeter defenses and the other would work with Ed on patrolling techniques.

We fell out and I led the two platoon leaders over to the motor pool. I held a brief inspection to make sure that the troops were equipped properly and showed the platoon leaders what I was looking for. I let them do the inspection on the second platoon before we loaded up and moved out the main gate. The dust from the ten hummers was quite impressive. I lost sight of Goma shortly after we moved out because of it. I was in the second hummer in our little group; it was configured as a commo/command vehicle so I had three radios and a sat phone inside as well as a driver and three guards.

The point vehicle and the third vehicle of each group were configured as a fire support element mounted with ring mount .50 and two Belgian FN MAG 7.62 lightweight machine guns. The other vehicles were troops carriers and support. The drive out was rough as I directed the vehicles over terrain that paralleled the border and still be inside DRC by at least a few yards. The idea was to make a great big loop with the last half of the operation being right next to the border. I'm sure that after we made this trip a few times, a road would start to materialize. Cpt. Hopper flew along our path, leap frogging ahead and then darting back and then forward again, like a giant dragonfly. At noon, I called a break and we stopped for lunch.

The troops broke out the supplied MREs, still a novelty for them but they were soon getting used to it, set security and started lunch. I walked down the column to stretch my legs and work out some of the kinks I had got from the bumpy ride. We had stopped in a small arroyo that would provide some shade and I was glad to see the platoon leaders put scouts out on the ridgeline. I squatted in the shade and talked to the platoon leaders while we ate and discussed the upcoming ambush drill. I would move ahead with the point vehicle and set simulators and pop smoke then see how the platoons reacted.

Lunch finished and I got into the point vehicle to head out and wait. The platoon leaders instructed the troops that we would conduct a live fire ambush drill and I was going to be observing. I found the perfect spot, stopped the hummer and took my little bag of goodies out. The vehicle crew helped me set up the course and then I radioed back that we were ready. We moved the vehicle over to the other side of the road and waited. The column halted beside us a few minutes later and I briefed the platoons on how we would move into the 'ambush' area, taking the time to point out the landmarks and how terrain could be used and identified as beneficial and detrimental to both the ambushee and the ambusher. They asked questions which were, hopefully, explained to their satisfaction. I stressed that the safety for this evolution was paramount and that all weapons were to be safed before leaving the area.

They mounted up, turned around and moved back up the road to start the exercise. I watched them as they moved into the 'kill zone'. Once they hit the sweet spot, I triggered the artillery simulator and they bailed out of their hummers and began to move into the ambush denying the kill zone to the ambushers and forcing the 'enemy' to take cover. I threw smoke grenades over them to land in front and make them lose visibility. I then triggered the simulators along their right flank. The combined thunderous noise and wadding flying added to the realism, I touched off the ones on the left flank and finally the big ones to the front.

There was dust; dirt clods and assorted debris flying all around, that and the smoke from the grenades really made this appear like the real thing. I watched as the platoon leaders moved their men to plug holes and suppress the imaginary enemy. It was all over in less than 10minutes. I blew my whistle long and loud to let them know it was over. I watched, making sure that the platoon leaders and platoon sergeants verified that the troops had safe weapons before I came out from behind the vehicles. The troops looked good and had handled the exercise pretty well considering no one was shooting back. I sat them down in the limited shade and we critiqued every thing they did as well as take questions and suggestions from the troops.

Most thought it was pretty realistic, others who had seen action, said it was easier because there was no return fire. I was impressed that they had handled it as well as they did. Bobby Rodriguez had told me that they were good and they looked it.

The troops were in good spirits for the rest of the trip. The return leg would put us right along the border. There was already a dirt path along part of it and after ten hummers went over it, it was almost a road. We only stopped a few times to use the PTO winch to move rocks out of the way and clear a path. It was getting dark when we saw the lights of the camp ahead. Our trail would put us in Goma before we turned west again and moved to the camp. The people of Goma stood in the doorways and watched as we went by. Most just stared, some of the kids waved. Ed had been busy while we were out playing.

The perimeter had been pushed back a few more yards and there were now sandbag towers at the corners, mortar pits and heavy weapon positions around the perimeter. There was also an outer gate and an inner gate with bunkers and trench work in place and coils of concertina wire, stacked three coils high around the outer perimeter.

It looked more like a Vietnam era firebase then a forward deployment installation. I was tired when the hummer stopped and Ed met me at the door to the head shed. He quickly briefed me on the LZ situation, including the one he had established within the inner and outer fences, and that we would be getting a supply run the next morning with some engineer equipment, more ammo, two more trucks and more concrete and wire.

The next few weeks went by in a blur. The engineers had come in and graded the area around the base and widened the road to Goma. They had worked for several days and finally established a patrol road along the border and had marked it with survey stakes. Before they pulled out, they had dug several deep wells for the citizens and two for our use. After they left, we held classes through interpreters, about how to use the seeds that had been delivered. The people of Goma were very grateful when equipment for their farming needs was delivered. Within a month, they walked with their heads up and had some of their pride back.

Soon livestock arrived and several truck farms sprung up. The weekly truck from Uganda came less frequently to deliver and now was loaded with vegetables and fruit shipping out. Another month came and went and I noticed that the Ugandan driver now had a newer truck and was able to purchase another to keep up with the flow of consumables he was transporting.

The unit was now very cohesive and operated very efficiently with the environment. They had begun cross training and the weapons range had been finished. This was one kick ass unit that would take some names if they ever got into the shit. Ed continued his patrol training methods; I kept up with the weapons training and with the platoon leaders, developed a quick reaction plan in the event that Ugandan forces crossed over.

We had worked closely with the DRC arty unit and had the entire area gridded out and referenced for artillery support. Our air wing had been augmented with two of the four Hughes 500 D Defender gunships and one Puma for troop transport and medical extraction.

Four of our ten hummers had been equipped with Milan anti-tank systems and the rest all sported a mounted mg or grenade launcher including the command vehicles. A shipment of six land rovers, which we quickly converted to the 'R-SOV' configuration, complemented our motor pool. These six rovers could be used for troop transports, fire support or field ambulances. All were mounted with the Belgian FN Minimi and one, my favorite, had the M214 minigun mounted on it. The M214 had started life as a long barrel, helicopter or vehicle mounted suppressive weapon. Over the years the barrel had been shortened and several versions had been created for individual soldier use, most notable the M134 minigun. It worked best when mounted and ours was an early model that still had the longer barrel. It fired from six barrels and was in 5.56 same as the M16, and it wouldn't shake up the vehicle too much. The power source was a battery system that connected to the slave port already in the back of the military version of our rovers. It would give the boys some serious firepower if needed.

At the natural chokepoint that the road leading to Uganda had, we posted signs facing Uganda telling of the new border crossing that had been completed. We had the engineers build us some molds of the old style 'dragon's teeth' that the Germans have favored so much on the Maginot Line during WWII. Those teeth combined with the jersey barriers we set in place, funneled all vehicle traffic to the border crossing and would hopefully slow down any mounted advance. On the high ground on our side of the border, we set up some OP/LP sites and made sure that they had hard line communication to the base.

The view was incredible from those sites. They could easily see two miles into Uganda and the entire border to the horizon in both directions. The base looked like an ant farm from there. We ran a simple two-strand fence along the border and hung signs in several languages along with the skull and crossbones symbol to warn the walking stragglers. On the inside of our patrol road, the residents of Goma had used the straight edge of the road to align their fields with. As the unit would make its patrol, it wasn't uncommon to have them come back with a load of fruit and vegetables that they had been given. The people didn't view us as aggressors but closer to saviors, as they had suffered from dry wells, bad crops and dead livestock until we arrived.

During those months, it was enjoyable to not worry about Dickerson and his goons. Webb called weekly and never questioned anything we requested. When our relief showed four months after we got there, it was almost a homesick feeling when we boarded the supply helo and waved to the platoon leaders. I trusted our relief so there was no doubt that they would be able to work well with the DRC unit. Several villagers turned out and waved from the fence line.

I didn't know that this was the last time I would see that unit or village again.

(Author's Note: In 2002, a major earthquake leveled the entire town of Goma and severely damaged the base. Uganda sent troops in to 'assist' with rescue operations and provide aid; the beleaguered DRC unit was quickly overwhelmed and killed to the last man. Ugandan forces moved in and set up operations in the base we had built.)

The flight back was quiet and I dozed off several times. I did wake up to notice that we weren't heading for the airfield but the hotel. The Puma flared over the roof and lightly set down long enough for us to step off before it pulled pitch and flew off. Ed and I looked at each other and just shrugged, as it saved us a road trip. We walked down the stairs and inside without another word. I got to my room and it was like a breath of fresh air. I dumped all my field gear in a pile on the floor and headed in to take a real shower before ordering room service and beginning the task of cleaning all my gear.

I spent a few days lounging around and relaxing. Webb stopped by and we talked about the unit, their training, and how far they had come. On his last visit that week; he mentioned that they had had a small ceremony for Clint and Doc Johnson. The plane taking the remains back was leaving the next morning and he wanted to know if I was going on it. With all the paperwork involved and that fact that it was two foreign nationals that had been killed, that explained the delay. That, and Webb was a stickler for investigations and thoroughness. I told him I would and he stood, shook my hand, told me to tell Karen hi and left. I sat there and thought about it for a while. I called Karen on my sat phone and told her I'd be heading back tomorrow and gave her a tentative time frame. We spoke for several hours just catching up. I didn't tell her about Clint even though there were numerous times I could have. I told her I loved her and would see her soon before I hung up and headed down to dinner.

As I was walking to the banquet room, I noticed that one of Dickerson's goons was in the lobby. I stopped and fixed him with a stare. I could tell that he was attempting to ignore me and continued to focus on his newspaper. I walked over to one of the pillars and leaned against it, still staring at him. Ed came over and asked me what I was doing. I told him and he looked over. He then said in a loud voice that everyone in the lobby heard, that it was a waste of time to stare at a pile of shit, as all it would do is dry up and blow away, or get stepped on. The guy looked like he was getting a bit miffed at our observation, as his face got a little darker. I agreed with Ed and then we both went into the banquet room and forgot about it. After dinner, he wasn't there, no big deal.

The next morning, I met Joe in front of the hotel and he drove me to the airfield. I was early so I killed some time shooting the breeze with Smiley until the Puma landed that was to ferry me back over to ROC and the flight home. Smiley had an honor guard formed and two silver caskets were hand loaded on the Puma. I got onboard and took the seat normally used by the flight engineer. The flight over was quiet and the only conversation was between the pilots and the tower. We set down at Quist's warehouse where he met us with a forklift and we transferred the caskets to a truck. He arranged for a lead and trail vehicle.

Before we left the warehouse complex, I borrowed another CAR15 and a few magazines in the event that something happened between here and the airport. I was beginning to feel naked without a weapon. It was still early as we rolled through town, traffic was light but I still kept checking the side streets and buildings out of habit. We rolled up to the service entrance at the airport where the paramilitary guards reviewed our paperwork before waving us through. We drove out onto the tarmac and right up to the British Airways plane.

When we stopped, I got out and walked over to the freight handlers and watched as they unloaded the cargo and put it into the plane. I walked back over to the lead vehicle and handed the driver my weapon after removing the mag and working the action several times to ensure it was safe. I then got my bag and went up the air stairs, handing the attendant my ticket. The flight was long and I spent most of it reading the in flight magazines, watching the movies provided and staring out the window.

We flew to Saudi Arabia where we switched planes and flew into Heathrow. There was a two-hour layover and when I did the math, I realized that it was after 2am west coast time and decided not to call Karen until I got to New York. Heathrow was pretty busy for that time of day, which was a little surprising. I wandered around and found a McDonalds and had a quick meal before heading over to the ticket counter for check in. When I got to the counter, the agent looked at my ticket and then at the manifest and then back at me. I was thinking, WTF, when he asked me if I had any other luggage besides the carry-on. I told him no as I was escorting some cargo back to the states. He asked me what it was and I told him. He got this look on his face that I can only describe as one a baby would get when it first crapped its diaper and then asked me to accompany the security officer that walked up. I didn't say anything as he handed my ticket back to me and I fell in step with the officer, taking note of the other officers that kept their distance but paced us as we headed for the customs/freight area. Once we got off the main concourse, the flanking officers had to close in and we all got bunched up inside the hallway and the stairwell that led to the cargo area. I didn't ask any questions and they weren't real chatterboxes, so it was a quiet walk with nothing but their footsteps echoing off the concrete. We got to a small fenced area and inside were the two caskets.

The lead officer opened the gate and motioned me inside while two of the others flanked the opening. He asked me some questions about the caskets, the customs seals, the country of origin and the contents. I asked him what he thought the contents were and he got a little argumentative. I told him flat out that they contained the remains of two of my best friends. His entire demeanor changed and he apologized and then led me back out of the area, expressing his apology several more times and then attempting to justify his actions by explaining how contraband has come into the UK in caskets in the past. At the door that led to the concourse, he apologized again and told me he was going to call ahead to the ticket counter and get me priority boarding for my inconvenience. I thanked him and moved off to my plane. I dozed off on the flight and woke only for the meals.

We landed at New York about 30minutes early due to some tailwind and I took the time to call Karen and let her know when I'd hit SEATAC. She told me that Tiffany had called her just that morning to ask about Clint and to have her ask me the next time I called. I told her to not call Tiffany until I got in. There was silence on the phone when I told her that. Finally she asked me if something had happened. I told her I would discuss it with her when I got in. She didn't say anything so I told her I loved her and then hung up as they called my flight.

I got into SEATAC a little after 1900hrs and made my way down to the freight area. As I entered the section, I noticed two guys in suits talking to the customs person. I stood behind them and couldn't help but overhear the conversation. They were asking him about the two caskets I was picking up. I glanced over and saw the hearse already waiting for my release signature.

The two guys were getting into it pretty heavy when another one showed up, looked at me, back at the customs clerk, then back at me before pulling out his ID, shoving it into my face and identifying himself as a federal agent. Suddenly, several hands grabbed me, pulled my carry-on off my shoulder, pushed me into the counter, cuffed me and started to mirandize me. Great. A long flight now this.

I was escorted out and into a waiting FOUO government sedan, which peeled out before the doors were even closed. One agent continued to ask me if I understood my rights and if I wanted to waive my right to an attorney while another, the one sitting next to me kept repeating how I was in really deep shit. I looked out the window and ignored them until they shut up and we pulled into the Federal Building just a few blocks away from the Alaskan Way Viaduct. We breezed into the underground garage, squealed to a stop and I was manhandled out of the car. Once we were buzzed inside, I was taken to an area where the cuffs were removed and I was told to place my hands on the painted hand outline on the wall and assume a front leaning rest position while I was once again patted down for any weapons and read my Miranda rights yet again. The cuffs went back on and I was led down a hallway and put in an interrogation room. I looked around the room, it was pretty much like you see on TV, plain, drab, metal table, chairs and mirror on the wall. I knew the drill, sit there, be bored while a group watches you from the mirror, then after you're good and irritated, someone comes in with the coffee and your file. Surprisingly, it wasn't a long wait. An agent came in, in shirtsleeves, top button unbuttoned, tie askew, coffee in one hand and a file in the other.

Both hands full so someone outside the door opened it for him. He walked around me, took a seat in the other chair across the table from me and started to go through my file. Yet another time wasting exercise, as he already knew what was in it before they picked me up. This tactic is designed to get the other person nervous and scared. It didn't work. I was awake from the naps I had taken on the flights, and had played this game before so it was no big deal to sit there and watch as he started round one.

The agent made the usual noises as if he had found something new within my file. I just sat there and stared at him, my hands were getting a little prickly from the cuffs but then again, that's part of the game as well, get the other person uncomfortable and off balance. He finally looked up and saw me staring at him, took a sip from his cup and then stared back. Finally, he said something. It was the old you know you're in a lot of trouble speech, followed by the aiding and abetting a known gun smuggler, and then there are no immigration stamps for your entry or exit from DRC. Then the whole quiet contemplation look and the would you like to waive your right to a lawyer question, followed by more silence.

I told him to charge me or release me. He then flipped to the page in the file and began to read off the charges. Willingly and knowingly entering a country without a valid entry or exit stamp, aiding and abetting a suspected terrorist organization and international gun smuggler, (Quist's operation), inciting civil disorder (?), violation of several State department statutes, rules and regulations, failure to make my presence known to the American Mission in DRC, attempted murder of a federal agent (? Shooting Dickerson's vehicle?), destruction of government property (the land rover), threatening a federal agent while in the course of his duty, failure to cease and desist all actions when aforementioned agent identified himself as such, how Interpol now had me listed as a person of interest, and some other bullshit items like national security issues, violation of the non-disclosure agreements, the secrecy acts, selling military secrets to a foreign country, training foreign military troops in classified US military doctrine. I listened as he rattled on and on before he added that I was in so deep that I'd need a periscope to see daylight when it was all over, and then the trump card of how I could lose my citizenship and become persona non grata after spending a couple of centuries to life in a federal prison. I just sat there and smirked at him. He blustered a little more then stood and told me that it could be easier if I talked and handed over the leaders of this little operation. Which of course, in my mind, would be Laurent Kabila, the president of DRC and his sons Joseph and Steven. He wanted the financial people, the suppliers, the gunrunners, everything. He shut up and I just smirked some more and told him to give me my phone call. He left the room then and let me sit for a few more hours. By the time he came back in, I had lost feeling in my fingers.