Brian Tyree
Ghost Trail
PROLOGUE
BOOMERANG
Hal Sheridan had never jumped before — as a team leader. He notched dozens of jumps as a member of Air Force Combat Search and Rescue — CSAR — including many into hostile environments. This would be his first jump as a Combat Rescue Officer of the PJs — a retronym given to the Pararescue Jumpers Special Forces group in 1947.
Hal pondered his new responsibilities while driving an Air Force truck over the sweltering Saudi tarmac. The most critical of which weighed heavy on his mind… Being responsible for the lives of the men in his unit.
Hal backed the pickup to the open ramp of a Hercules HC-130 cargo aircraft. The Hercules was aptly named: A behemoth with four thundering propellers biting into the hot air, spewing dust and sand at Hal’s team near the ramp. The Herc was the most reliable means of dropping special operators into harm’s way for over three decades.
Hal and his team hoisted their gear from the back of the truck. Hal was six-feet-two and two-hundred pounds, with a rugged build and wind-burned face. The kind you get from a decade of riding motorcycles or jumping out of airplanes. In his case it happened to be both. Having served as a PJ for eight years, Hal was ready for more action and more responsibility. He took courses in his free time to fulfill the rigorous requirements of becoming CRO. At thirty, he seemed like a mother hen among the much younger PJs and enlisted men and women.
Upon hefting their gear from the truck, they dumped it on the asphalt for the “PJ bag drag” into the Herc. The DEVGRU operators — SEALs — carried theirs, giving the PJs odd looks for dragging their rucks up the ramp. Each man secured his own gear into metal boxes along the hull, inside the aircraft.
Hal finished stowing his gear then checked each of his men as they packed theirs. He wondered what kind of mission called for two DEVGRU specialists, a CSAR PJ and a spark chaser — PJ electronics specialist. The SEALs used temporary call signs for the mission — Romeo23 and Romeo24. Romeo two-three was big and burly with a thick beard. He looked more like a seasonal Christmas-tree-lot-operator than a special-operator. Two-four was slender and squirrelly. Lennon, the CSAR PJ, was short and stocky, hand-selected by Hal for his paramedic skills. The spark chaser went by the call sign Jonah. Or maybe it was his last name? Hal wasn’t sure. He figured the call sign was a better guess because Jonah was a rotund man, not the stereotypical IT nerd. Call signs weren’t always complimentary, and Hal thought Jonah may have earned his for his appearance in Basic Military Training — boot camp for the Air Force.
The SEALs packed up their gear and stood before Hal while he observed the others. “Lifter19?” Two-three asked, curious about the origin. “As in skirts?” He lifted the back of two-four’s shirt. He played along, daintily bending over, allowing the lifting of his “skirt.” Two-four then grasped Hal’s bicep.
“Ohhh!” Two-four squeaked. “It’s weights, not skirts.” He and two-three cracked each other up.
SEALs, Hal thought, smiling. Taking the ribbing. This is gonna’ be fun.
Romeo23 gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Safe trip, sir. Damn proud to be here with you.” Romeo24 also gave Hal a sincere handshake, and the two SEALs continued on to their jump seats.
Command briefed Hal and his team before the load-in, but provided only minimal details. The mission was too secretive. They would learn all they needed to know up in the air. The last utterance from the commander was, “You men were never on this hop.” Judging from the mere DEVGRU presence, Hal knew SEAL Team Six would only be joining them if it was an important mission— their basic purpose in life was to track down and kill High Value Targets — HVTs.
Hal and the others buckled into seats along the Herc walls that were more like harnesses with a small pad for your back and one for your ass. They were each wearing high-noise headsets under their Mich helmets.
“This is your captain speaking,” the pilot’s voice sounded over their headsets. The spark chaser turned the sound up on his, not anticipating the magnitude of roar from the Herc propellers. “Welcome aboard Zeus one-five! Fasten your seatbelts and be sure to return your tray tables to their upright and locked position.” The SEALs chuckled. “Secure for takeoff,” the pilot said in a serious tone.
Prince Sultan Air Base was part of Operation Southern Watch, responsible for the south of Iraq during Operation Iraqi Freedom. Search and rescue missions like this one were under the command of the Joint Search and Rescue Center — JSRC at Prince Sultan. Had the mission been closer to the Turkey Border, Operation Northern Watch would have taken it, with their own team of DEVGRU, PJs and a spark chaser. Hal knew that wherever they were going was too far for the local mode of PJ air transport, the HH60-G Pave Hawk helicopter.
Not long after the Herc was wheels-up, Hal heard radio traffic confirming an AWACS plane was flying overwatch. The AWACS served as a guardian angel, flying thousands of feet above, monitoring enemy activity in the area.
The Herc leveled out and a call from the navigator sounded over the radio. A call Hal typically would have zoned out as it was for the team leader. Realizing that was now him, a brisk chill shot up his spine telling him to pay attention.
The navigator called Hal up to the cockpit to confer on the approach and positioning over the drop zone (DZ). Hitting the drop zone was a challenging undertaking for the Herc, even with GPS and state-of-the-art avionics. Hal arrived in the cramped cockpit, taking in the view outside while working with the navigator. It was a clear, cool and starry night as the Herc cruised thousands of feet above the hilly desert terrain.
Herc navigators played a vital role in getting the giant aircraft in place over drop zones. Navigators calculated wind direction, air speed and altitude, all in coordination with the PJ team leader. This communication with the navigator gave Hal new information on the mission, including the name of it: Operation Outback. His hunch that it was an HVT was also proven correct, although the navigator didn’t know exactly what or who the target was. Hal presumed it was a downed helicopter or plane with a surviving CIA agent or high-level Al Qaeda officer aboard. This would explain the need for having a spark chaser on the team, to get the downed helo or plane back up in the air. Hal thought the HVT might also be a new type of drone they didn’t want to fall into enemy hands. This theory of Hal’s would explain the startling amount of demo ordinance he saw Romeo24 stow away. The navigator confirmed the obvious — the HVT was too far away for the helos. The standard CSAR doctrine was still in play, and command scrambled a task force composed of two helos and two attack aircraft. The task force was on schedule to arrive an hour after Hal’s team.
Hal returned to his seat, passing the jump details on to his team. Their target was in the mouth of a canyon near a village with insurgent activity. The DZ was outside the canyon, so nailing a precise drop and landing was mission critical. This ruled out using static chutes. Their round, bulbous form wasn’t as maneuverable, creating the dangerous possibility of blowing into enemy territory by a strong wind.
PJs could jump from a Herc as high up as 18,000 feet in what’s called a HALO — High Altitude Low Opening — jump. Hal and the navigator chose a “hop and pop” jump from an altitude of 4,000 feet. Just high enough to give the men plenty of time to pull their chutes if they went into a spin or tumbled off course. Provided their recovery was quick, they could still guide their chutes back to the DZ.