Operation : TURBO-GALACTIC: A.K.A., "THE FOURTH ROUND" (March – May, 2003)
Location : Iraq and Afghanistan; Iran;
Status : Active / Ongoing
"Our mission is to assassinate a known senior official, also known as 'the Butcher of Baghdad.' The target's name was given us by an informant who has been working with the CIA for more than ten years." The commander in charge of this operation was Colonel Jack Jacobs from the Special Forces' Delta Force. His orders were clear: he should not leave any evidence behind that could be traced back to his team. He would have no support once inside Iraq or Afghanistan. All communications between him and his command centre at Camp Peary had to pass through satellite phones. Thereafter all further instructions came via the US Air Force. This was how Colonel Jacobs explained it: 'We are going to do things our own way… We will make decisions based on what we see, hear and smell.'
It was a mission that if they failed would cost them their lives. They were to go into action only when there was absolute certainty that they could eliminate the target without leaving a trace. It was also essential that they did so before anyone else discovered that the man they wanted to kill was still alive. After all, the United States had already tried twice to get rid of Saddam Hussein and had failed both times. Now President George W Bush and his administration were determined not to let this opportunity slip away again.
Maxwell Hunter placed his gun on the table, took out a cigarillo and lit up. "Ready for this?" he asked.
The two men nodded.
Hunter pulled out a piece of paper and read aloud from it. "First off," he said, "we're going to need a helicopter. I think we'll use one of those Chinooks over there." He pointed across the room towards where a dozen aircraft sat lined up along the wall. Each looked identical except for a different paint scheme. The first time they used a helicopter, it had been a C-130 Hercules transport plane. But now they needed something bigger, especially since the mission required them to fly into Baghdad airport and land near the presidential palace.
"How many people?" asked the other man, Major John Matthews.
"Four of us plus a pilot," replied Hunter.
He picked up the phone, dialled a number and spoke briefly to someone. Then he hung up. "Okay, we've got a chopper coming down. You can start packing your kit. Let me know when you're ready to go."
Major Matthews walked over to one of the large cabinets lining the far side of the room. Inside it were rows upon rows of small metal boxes, each marked with a letter and containing various items such as handcuffs, leg irons, plastic zip ties and rubber balls. These were standard issue equipment for every special forces unit in the world.
As soon as Matthews had finished picking out his gear, Hunter grabbed a backpack from under a desk and slung it over his shoulders. "Let's go then." He led the way out of the door and into the corridor outside. As he stepped onto the tarmac, a pair of armed guards ran up to greet him. One of them handed him a set of keys while another opened the heavy steel doors leading to the aircraft.
Inside was a spacious cabin with four seats facing forward. Two crewmen were waiting inside, seated in front of computer screens and monitors showing live footage from cameras mounted on the outside of the aircraft. The pilots turned around to face Hunter.
"Good afternoon, sir," they said.
"Where are we headed?"
"Baghdad airport, sir," answered one of the men.
"Right," said Hunter. "You'd better strap yourselves in." He climbed into the co-pilot seat. "I'm going to take over here," he told the pilots. "Just keep her steady and level. And don't forget to switch on the transponder code."
Once everyone was strapped in, Hunter pushed a button next to the joystick which controlled the main engines. A few seconds later, the aircraft lifted off the ground and started to taxi slowly towards the runway. The cockpit was filled with a thick cloud of black smoke, but the pilots didn't seem concerned. They knew that it would quickly dissipate as the aircraft reached cruising altitude.
"Alright." Hunter said, "Lets go over the plan." He placed a finger over a map. "Don't want to fuck up now, do we? First of all, we need to get close enough so that we can pick up the target's signal on our radio mike. Once we've found him, we'll approach from the east and try to avoid being detected by radar. If we're spotted, we'll turn westwards until we reach the airport. That way we won't be seen heading north towards the city. Then we'll follow the road round to the south and land in the southern half of the compound, right opposite the presidential palace." He looked at the Pilots. "We have only 4 minutes and 12 seconds before we enter Iraqi airspace. Can you handle that?"
"Yes, sir," they replied.
Hunter turned back to the map. "We'll be flying low and slow. We might even have to ditch in the desert if we run into trouble. So we need to stay alert at all times. Our objective is to capture the target alive. If that means killing him, then so be it. But I'd rather we avoided it if possible. Okay, I'll call the shots from here. With that said, If we do not arrive to leave in 45 minutes, abort the mission."
They had been briefed on what to do in case of an emergency landing. The pilots would jump out and open the doors while Hunter stayed strapped into his seat. He would then crawl out of the cockpit through a hatch in the floor and pull himself along the wing using a rope attached to the rear fuselage. Once he reached the ground, he would walk towards the nearest cover. At least that was the theory. In practice, Hunter would probably just jump out and hope for the best.
"Don't want to miss? Hunter?" Matthews said, pulling up his microphone.
"No," Hunter replied. "But if we do end up ditching, remember that we're in enemy territory. Be prepared to fight for your life."
After a short flight, they touched down on the runway of the airport. They taxied to the edge of the terminal building and parked beside a Boeing 727 jet.
"All right, we're here," Hunter announced. "Time to move." He climbed out of the cockpit. "First thing is to get through airport sacurity. They don't know about our arrival yet, so we should be able to slip past undetected. We'll be wearing civilian clothes. I suggest you do the same."
The men followed Hunter out of the aircraft. On the tarmac ahead of them were several soldiers standing guard. Their uniforms were black and white camouflage, designed to blend in with the desert terrain. They where armed with AK-47 assault rifles.
"Who goes there?" shouted one of the guards.
Hunter stopped and turned to face the soldier. He was a young American man in his early twenties. "My name's Maxwell Hunter," he said. "What's yours?"
"Private Jameson," answered the man.
Hunter smiled. "Jameson? How original. What kind of name is that anyway? Do your parents know?"
he started to check hunter for weapons, Obviously, he must have found something. Pulling it from the small pocket he looked. "American. Former marin-"
"Shh." Hunter said, Going to his ear. "You better do as i say. We're on a mission."
"Sir?"
"Get back into your vehicle." Hunter continued to speak silently. "Tell your commanding officer that you need to check your system for us. And say no more. If you do, You will have a free ticket to not have a bullet to your head by the end of the day."
"Yes sir!" the Private said.
"Now go," Hunter ordered.
Hunter watched the man hurry back to his jeep and drive off.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he said, turning to the others. "Let's go."
They moved through the terminal building, making sure that none of them made any sudden movements or noises. Hunter kept looking over his shoulder, expecting to be challenged at any moment. Eventually, they reached a security checkpoint where another soldier stood watch.
They split into the crowd smoothly like ghosts that had just emerged from a dark cave. The soldier scanned their ID cards and waved them on.
"We're almost there," Hunter whispered to the group.
They continued walking until they reached the exit gates. As they approached, they saw a line of vehicles parked outside. Amongst them were two armoured personnel carriers with mounted machine guns. The soldiers were busy checking the identification papers of everyone who entered the area.
"We're in luck," said Hunter. "We'll just walk straight through." He pressed a button on the palm of his hand and a small screen appeared in front of him. "Here's what we'll say. We're from the US embassy. We need to deliver a message to General Abboud, the new governor of Baghdad. Tell him that we'll meet him at the British Embassy tomorrow morning."
The soldier examined the screen. "Do you have proof of identity?" he asked.
"Of course," answered Hunter. "We've brought our passports." He showed him his passport and driver's licence.
"Very good," replied the soldier. "Go through." He gestured towards the gate.
The other members of the team followed Hunter inside. They were directed towards a long queue of cars waiting to leave. There were about twenty vehicles in total. All of them were either Mercedes-Benz or BMWs, but none of them bore the official government markings.
"So much for stealth," commented Matthews.
"There's always a way around things," Hunter replied. "This is Iraq. Nothing ever happens on time here."
A soldier came over to inspect the car. He checked the engine and the tyres and then climbed into the passenger seat to make sure that everything worked properly. After he was satisfied, he returned to the entrance gate and waved them on.
"It's okay," Hunter said. "We're clear."
He drove away from the airport and into central Baghdad. The streets were lined with abandoned vehicles and buildings had been burned out by firebomb attacks. It was obvious that the war still raged on.
"This place looks worse than Berlin during the second world war," Matthews remarked.
"I guess that's what comes from having an incompetent dictator running the country," Hunter replied.
They passed a group of soldiers who were carrying automatic weapons and wearing full combat gear. They were clearly preparing for some kind of action.
"What are they doing here?" Matthews asked.
"They're getting ready for an attack on the Green Zone," Hunter explained. "General Abboud has decided to move against the resistance leaders once and for all."
"Why did he wait so long?" Matthews asked. "If he wanted to crush them, why didn't he do it sooner?"
"Because he didn't have enough troops," Hunter answered. "Until now, he couldn't risk a frontal assault because the Americans wouldn't let him." Hunter smiled. "The baster doesn't know that four marines are sitting in my car right now. Now he can do whatever the hell he wants."
They continued driving towards the centre of town, passing through a series of checkpoints manned by soldiers dressed in green camouflage uniforms. Most of them were armed with Kalashnikov assault rifles. Some carried rocket launchers.
"How many men does he have?" Matthews asked.
"Thousands," Hunter replied. "Mostly conscripts. But he also has a lot of volunteers. People who are sick and tired of living in fear." Hunter frowned. "Thousands of scared men, Too prideful to see their families slaughtered, But too proud to surrender." He shook his head. "They'll never win this war."
"Not if they keep fighting like they are," Matthews agreed.
"The Americans will soon start withdrawing their forces from Iraq," Hunter went on. "Then Abboud will be able to take over the whole country." He glanced at his watch. "I think it's time we got to work."
They arrived at a large building near the river. It was surrounded by a high wall topped with razor wire. An iron gate guarded the entrance. Two soldiers were guarding the gate, standing behind a barricade. They wore brown uniforms and had automatic rifles slung across their backs.
Hunter pulled the ak-47 out of the glove compartment and handed it to Matthews. "You take point. I'm going to go in first and distract them. Then I'll come back and help you push through." The two others, both who had stayed mostly silent in the backseat, nodded their agreement.
Matthews stepped out of the car and walked up to the gate. He raised his hands above his head and spoke to the soldier on the other side.
"Good afternoon," he began. "I am Maxwell Hunter, acting ambassador of the United States. I have a message for General Abboud." He paused briefly. "We need to speak with him immediately."
One of the guards pulled at them, Most certainly checking for any obvious signs of weapons. "Okay," he said after a few seconds. "Let me check with-" Before he could finish that tense sentence, Matthews opened fire. A hail of bullets tore into the guard's chest and stomach. He fell backwards onto his backside, dead before he hit the ground.
The remaining soldier dropped his gun and ran for cover.
Hunter was the one who slide into the mans blind spot too pull his ak-47 from its holster. He shot twice and killed the man instantly. He quickly reloaded and aimed it directly around, checking for any other threats. None of the other soldiers had seen what happened.
"Going loud!" Hunter said, The two other marines having cleared the area.
He grabbed hold of the steel bars and pushed his body forward, forcing the door open. Inside was a wide corridor. A row of offices stretched off to the left. Hunter took out his flashlight and shone it into each one, searching for anyone else present. He found only empty rooms.
"Clear," he called out. "Everyone follow me."
As the marines filed into the building, Matthews closed the metal door behind them. He put his rifle down and picked up his radio handset. "Incoming! Incoming!"
Suddenly there was gunfire coming from the direction of the main office. Hunter dashed over to the window overlooking the street below. Three soldiers were crouched behind a concrete barrier, firing at anything that moved. One of them was lying motionless on the pavement, riddled with bullet holes. Another soldier was pinned under an overturned Jeep. Both of them were already dead.
Hunter jumped down from the windowsill and raced along the hallway, heading for the stairs.
"I hear sirens," Matthews said over the radio.
Hunter ignored him. He reached the stairwell and headed upwards, taking three steps at a time. Suddenly the door burst open and two soldiers charged in. They fired wildly at Hunter without aiming. He sidestepped the bullets easily and knocked them both flat with his elbow. He kicked them aside and threw himself against the far wall, using it to protect himself from the next wave of attackers. Several rounds struck the brickwork beside his head. He ducked instinctively and rolled away.
When the shooting finally died down, Hunter looked up again and saw a soldier pointing a pistol at him.
"Don't shoot!" he yelled. "I'm friendly."
The soldier hesitated, unsure whether he should believe him.
"Look," Hunter told him, "there's nothing personal here." He fired two shots from his ak-47. One hit the man in the forehead. The other caught him square in the chest.
"Stay low!" Hunter ordered. "Move slowly. Keep your heads covered. And stay alert. There might still be snipers somewhere."
They crawled along the floor until they reached the top landing. From there they could look down upon the main room.
"Are you sure nobody's watching?" Matthews whispered.
"Positive," Hunter replied. "I've been everywhere. Our target is near, And soon this whole fucking thing will be over."
They descended the stairs cautiously and moved through the doorway leading to the reception area. The lobby was filled with people: civilians, soldiers and policemen. Everyone seemed to be staring in disbelief at the bloody corpses scattered around the room.
"Where's Abboud?" Matthews asked.
"I don't know," Hunter replied. "But I intend to find out."
He turned and pointed his rifle towards the nearest desk. Two soldiers were slumped over it, apparently asleep. 'A trap.' Hunter said, Not pulling his weapon down for a second.
'No,' Matthews protested. 'These guys are innocent bystanders.'
Hunter gave him a stern glance. 'I don't care if they're sleeping or not. If they're still alive, they're fair game. Don't argue with me!'
He waited patiently as the two marines searched each corpse carefully for hidden weapons. When he was satisfied that neither of them were carrying a gun, he pulled his own weapon free and trained it on the two bodies.
"Anybody move," he warned. "And I'll kill you where you stand."
After a brief moment of silence, one of the soldiers stirred slightly. His eyes fluttered open, revealing bloodshot whites. Hunter fired twice, killing him instantly.
The other soldier started to sit up. He tried desperately to crawl away, but Hunter fired several more times, dropping him unconscious.
"Now we've got two hostages," he said.
Matthews looked worriedly at the door leading into the rest of the building. "What about the other civilians?" he asked.
"They won't get involved," Hunter promised. "At least not unless we ask them to."
They made their way through the lobby and entered another large hall. This one contained rows of desks and chairs. At the far end sat Abboud and six other men. They were all seated around a table, talking quietly among themselves.
Abboud stood when he saw Hunter and Matthews approach. "Maxwell," he greeted them. He seemed to be making a drink, he pulled it to his mouth before drinking. "Such a fine day for a stroll." He placed the glass down and wiped his lips. "Do you mind? You're interrupting our meeting."
Hunter glared at Abboud, Who was trying hard to hide the fact that he'd been startled by their sudden appearance.
Hunter aimed his gun at the man. "You're lucky," he said. "Otherwise I would have blown your brains out right now."
"So what's happening?" Abboud demanded angrily. "What's this all about?"
"Your little rebellion has failed," Hunter told him bluntly. "And now it's time to pay the piper." He gestured towards the table. "Take those five men outside and execute them. Then bring us the rest of the prisoners. We want every last one of them."
"Oh but you are wrong my dear friend." Abboud said, a faint smile coming across his face. "Where you think i have failed, I have just begun. My rebellion was burn from a goal to survive without me." A bomb that was thickening down from 15 seconds was discovered when he opened his chest. "My friends and family will continue to fight for freedom in my name, For generations yet unborn."
"Fuck! Its a bom-" Hunter shouted, But then he stopped, realizing Abboud had probably planted explosives inside his clothes.
Before he could react, Abboud leaped forward, grabbing Hunter's throat with his bare hand. The general lifted him off his feet and slammed him against the wall. Blood poured from his neck and splattered across the walls and ceiling. Hunter gasped for air, unable to breathe properly. Abboud laughed triumphantly, holding him in place.
"There is no escape for you," he sneered, "Even though I am dying myself, Your death will be slow and painful."
"Allahu akbar! Mother fucker!" The bomb went off, blasting Abboud apart. The blast sent shrapnel flying everywhere. The entire room exploded into chaos. Shouting broke out amongst the crowd, while screams echoed throughout the building. The smoke was so dense that none of them could see anything clearly.
'Ah shit.' Hunter said, he felt his body being thrown backwards. Someone had shoved him through the smashed window. As he landed heavily on the ground, he realized he hadn't taken his vest off during the operation. The explosion had burned most of his clothing away. He heard someone running past nearby and knew that Matthews must have followed him.
His heart pounded furiously within his chest. He struggled to regain control of himself. He lay still for a few moments, listening intently for any sounds of life. All he could hear was the sound of shouting and screaming.
'This is how i die? Why do i feel... Calm.' He thought, looking up at the sky. It was clear blue. No clouds. Just beautiful sunshine.
He looked down at his arms. The skin had been badly burnt, leaving deep red scars. His legs were also charred black, although fortunately he still retained some sensation. He couldn't even tell if his feet were working anymore. He wondered why he wasn't feeling much pain. Perhaps because he was already dead. Or perhaps because he didn't really give a damn either way. He decided it didn't matter.
***