Jamie Fredric
Operation Gold Eagle
For All Those Who Have Served
All Gave Some, Some Gave All
Team Alpha Tango
Home Base — “Eagle 8”
Grant Stevens — Captain, (Ret.); graduate U.S. Naval Academy; born in California; brown hair; brown eyes, 6’1”; fluent in Russian and Japanese; Code name “Panther”; Team call sign: “Yankee Zero-Niner”
Joe Adler — Lieutenant, (Ret.); born in Oklahoma; brown hair, blue eyes, 5’10”; fluent in German; Code name “Mustang”; “Yankee Two-Seven”
Frank Diaz — CPO; born in NY; black hair, brown eyes, 5’9”; EOD; fluent in Spanish, some Portuguese; “Yankee Three-Six”
Ken Slade — CPOS (Senior Chief), (Ret.); born in Alaska; bald; brown eyes; 5’10”; pointman/navigator; speaks the Inuit language, and Russian; “Yankee Four-One”
Cal “Doc” Stalley — Petty Officer 1st Class; born in Virginia; dark blond hair; blue eyes; 5’10”; corpsman; fluent in French, some Chinese; youngest of the Team; “Yankee Five-Two”
Darius “DJ” James — Petty Officer 1st Class; born in Florida; dark brown hair; brown eyes; 5’9”; communications; speaks some Turkish, Arabic; “Yankee Six-Eight”
Mike Novak — Petty Officer 1st Class; born in Wisconsin; dark blond hair; hazel eyes; 6’0”; sniper; speaks Hungarian and some German; “Yankee Seven-Three”
Matt Garrett — Captain, (Ret.); graduate of U.S. Naval Academy; born in Maryland; brown hair; brown eyes, 6’0”; fluent in French and German; “Yankee Eight-Four”
Rob Draper — Lieutenant; OCS, Newport, R.I.; born in Connecticut; brown hair; hazel eyes; 5'9"; fluent in French; "Yankee Niner-Niner"
Chapter 1
After an entire day of rain, clouds were finally breaking up, allowing brief glimpses of stars and a quarter moon. An Army guard ducked his head out of the shelter, checked the weather, then pulled off his rain gear, hanging it inside the guardhouse. Readjusting his helmet, then his hip holster, he slowly walked across the paved driveway. He glanced through the bars of the white, wrought iron fence, then tugged on the gate, ensuring it was secured. There hadn't been any traffic for over an hour, and as he looked up and down the tree-lined street, there still wasn't any sign of headlights or pedestrians.
On his way back to the guard house, he glanced over his shoulder at the metal flag pole, hearing the sound of flag snaps clanging against the pole in a brisk ten knot wind. The constant drone of two generators and the flag snaps were all that interrupted the otherwise quiet evening. He took his position in front of the guardhouse.
At the back of the compound, a second guard patrolled next to the seven-foot high chain-link fence. Across the top concertina wire (razor wire) stretched along three sides of the compound. He backed up a couple of steps, then looked toward the right corner, noticing one of the security lamps flickering. He made a mental note to report it to maintenance. From where he stood he wasn't able to check all the security cameras, but assumed they were all operating. Tapes would be reviewed in the morning.
He stopped next to the pass office building, and checked the lock. Taking out a pack of Lucky Strikes, he tapped the bottom then grabbed one with his lips. Feeling for a lighter in his pocket, his eyes scanned the compound one more time. Smoking was prohibited while on duty. He ducked behind the building, then lit the cigarette. This would be his last smoke until after his patrol around the rest of the compound. Taking a long drag, he blew out a steady stream of smoke, looking up at the smoke dissipating in the night air. After two more quick drags, he stepped around the side of the building. Before he had time to flick the butt outside the fence, a bullet, fired from a silenced weapon, struck center mass. He stumbled backward. The last thing he saw was a deep color of red, spreading across the front of his uniform. He collapsed.
The shooter continued aiming his weapon, sweeping it side to side as he scanned the compound. Two other men with bolt cutters began snipping the wire, cutting away a "panel" big enough to not impede their escape.
With weapons drawn, they grabbed brown leather satchels, and ducked through the opening. While two of them dashed across the parking lot, the third dragged the guard into the building's shadow. Picking up his satchel, he ran to the corner of the two-story barracks, immediately standing guard. The other two men had already started unrolling det cord, starting from opposite ends of the building. Spaced every four feet, attached to the det cord, were sticks of dynamite, three to a "pack."
Joining the det cord at the mid-way point of the building, the two men glanced at the man on watch. He gave a thumb's up, and they immediately began inserting chemical pencils into the dynamite sticks. Each pencil had a three minute fuse, and contained a one inch ampoule of acetone, that when crimped would allow the acetone to eat away a plastic washer holding back a striker under spring tension. When the washer eroded, the spring would drive the striker into the explosive detonator, setting off the device.
They completed their task. Ivan Reznikov signaled. The ampoules were crimped. The three men ran like hell, sprinting through the fence opening, trying to reach their vehicle before the explosion.
At the main gate the guard heard an engine starting. He rested a hand on his weapon, and went to the gate, leaning his head against the wrought iron, trying to detect anything, anybody. He moved farther to the right along the fence, when a horrific explosion rocked the ground. He spun around. What he saw took his breath away. The remains of the barracks spewed fire. The first floor had collapsed under the weight of the second. Wood burned. Men screamed. Sirens blared. Men from other buildings were rushing toward the destruction.
He started to run, when he heard a vehicle coming closer. He turned and drew his weapon, as an older East German car sped away into the darkness.
The final casualty tolclass="underline" 35 killed, 60 severely injured.
Phillip Braxton had assumed the ambassadorship to Germany after being appointed by President Andrew Carr. Four months after the barracks' bombing, he and his aide were being driven from the embassy to attend a meeting in Bonn with the diplomates of France and England. His official vehicle flew the American flag on the right front fender.
As the vehicle approached the outskirts of Bad Godesberg, the driver slowed just enough, anticipating the sharp curve. As the vehicle went into the curve, two RPGs were launched from behind a hill. One struck the engine compartment, the other the rear, immediately exploding the gas tank.
The attack killed the driver and aide instantly. The ambassador survived the blast, but succumbed to his horrific injuries on the way to the hospital.
Over the next fifteen months, two more attacks on American installations claimed the lives of 50, both military and civilian.
With help from the West German BND (Federal Intelligence Service), the CIA positively identified Ivan Reznikov from security tapes as lead participant in the Army compound bombing. All indications implicated him in the attack on Ambassador Braxton, and the following two attacks.
Reznikov took over the No. 1 spot on America's Most Wanted list.