“What do you mean?” asked another.
“Look, everybody’s trying to guess at who did it and where they might be, but what we really need to think about is why it was done. You know that, and it will point to our captor,” he said calmly. “After all, when someone kidnaps a person or people, it is to make some sort of statement. It can be as simple as ‘you pissed me off and I’m gonna get you,’ or as complicated as a political power play. In any case they want something. What do they want?” he asked.
Hammond smiled inwardly. His guess had been right and this kid had nailed it. “No one has made any demands so far,” he said.
“Then it will be soon. The idea is to get your hostages and let your enemy know as soon as possible. I mean, that’s the whole idea. Why do it if you don’t let people know what you want?” the young officer asked.
After a moment Hammond smiled at the man and said, “Something tells me you’ve already worked it out.”
The young man’s face turned red. He had put his neck out for chopping, but he couldn’t stop now. “Yes sir, I think so.”
Hammond urged him on. “Go ahead. It never hurts to hear a point of view.”
The officer raised a finger. “First, it is too big an operation to be a terrorist group. You mentioned that the border guards seemed to let the truck pass through. That tells me they knew the people. If so, it was a government backed thing,” he said counting off on his fingers. “Although we don’t have a stellar relationship with the Latin American nations, it’s been pretty good as of late and we have been doing a lot to make things better. Colombia’s president has everything to lose and nothing to gain since we just concluded that big trade deal with them. He’s even visited Washington twice during this presidency. Why jeopardize that? I agree with the XO. Distances are key. With them being drugged and in a truck, they just can’t go that far unless they have a plane hidden somewhere. So it’s either Colombia or Venezuela. President Parente is not a friend of the United States, we all know that. But he isn’t so stupid as to carry something like this off and risk the scorn of the world over something small. He loves to boast and brag about his leadership and he has tried to extend that to have influence in his neighbors. What if he could show some of these smaller countries just what a big man he is? It would stroke his ego a long way. Now let’s look at what has happened. A group of American mayors has been kidnapped. Why Americans? Why no hostage demand? And why now? I believe this tells us exactly why it’s been done.”
The people in the wardroom sat silent for a moment until the young woman at the computer sat up. “The election,” she blurted out. “The media will have a field day just like the Iranian hostages back in the 70’s. With no real indication of who did it or where they are, the President will have a heck of a time getting them back before the vote and in the mean time the public has just enough time to get annoyed and change sides. The opposition would be crazy not to take advantage of this,” she said.
Heads around the room were nodding and voicing their agreement. Hammond looked at Davis and smiled. “I think we have all come to the same conclusion.” He nodded toward the young officer who found the answer. “Keep an eye on him Brian. He’ll go places,” he said before thanking the group and closing the meeting. He had come to the same conclusion that morning. Now he had to take it to his friends.
The swamps of South Carolina were stifling hot in late September. Mosquitoes were everywhere and were joined by seemingly every other insect in the world, not to mention a few snakes. Major Josh Pegram stood in his command post and scanned the surrounding area for the enemy. In the gamming situation, he and his troops had a hostage and the opposing force was tasked with rescuing the hostage without getting him killed. The command post was in the middle of the swamp and the rescuers would have to crawl through it to get the man out. So far, no team had been able to do it. The combination of heat and insects seemed to always cause something to give the other team away. Special Team Five had been training up for this mission for three weeks. They had left the kick off point three days ago. So far there had been no sign of them. Pegram chuckled at the idea that they might have gotten lost.
This team was a pretty good one. The captain in charge was better than most and listened to his people. But it was the enlisted leadership that had impressed Pegram — especially Master Sergeant Dale Ricks. At first he was skeptical. Ricks didn’t have his legs. He had lost them during the last war. But obviously that hadn’t stopped him. He could outrun, jump or kick any man in the outfit. He was smart too. He had learned a lot of evasion techniques during the war and was eager to pass those along to his people. Where some people might just give up and walk away, Ricks would just move faster. Yet, he was the most pleasant guy to be around. Not bad at all.
One of his men came around the corner. “Sir, one of the guys heard something on the other side.”
Pegram grabbed the field glasses and walked to the other side of the compound. The compound was literally a small island only about three feet higher than the surrounding swamp. There was one narrow path that snaked to it. Pegram lifted his glasses and scanned in the direction the young man was pointing. “What did it sound like?” he asked.
The younger sentry was also scanning the area. “Can’t place it, sir. It just wasn’t like the rest of the sounds,” he said quietly. A third man joined in with his binoculars. After a minute, a second sound, almost like something clinking against a glass jar was faintly heard above the cacophony of life surrounding the compound.
Pegram was expecting something. “Get the rest of the squad up here.”
Within a minute five more people were along the mud wall, rifles in hand. They spread themselves along the wall and waited. The marshy waters surrounding the compound remained a flat calm. There was no sign of anything amiss. After a few minutes Pegram began a circle of the compound. About three quarters of his men were at the one wall while the others remained at their posts on the other three. He rounded the corner of the tent at the center of the island. Inside the tent an observer was posing as the hostage and watching through the tent windows. He was watching intently.
Pegram walked up to the sentry on the door side of the tent opposite the others. “See anything out here?” he asked. The soldier didn’t respond. Pegram nudged him and the young man turned his head and stared at him. There was a bright yellow paintball splotch at the dead center of his helmet. Pegram started to respond when two paintballs hit him — one in the head and one in the center of his chest. As per the exercise rules, Pegram sat down and didn’t make a sound.
A figure that looked like some sort of swamp monster emerged from the tent and made a hand signal. Three men suddenly materialized from the front of the mud wall and quietly climbed over. They were dripping with mud, moss and the tarry black ooze from the swamp. The figure from the tent then spoke into a small microphone seemingly attached to his cheek.
The sound was heard again. This time there was some stirring in the water. Now all the men rushed to the one side of the island and aimed their rifles toward the disturbance. One man called for the Major.
Suddenly each of the men found himself hit several times with the paintballs — not from the direction of the disturbance, but from the island itself. It took only a moment and Special Team Five gathered around the observer. The defending team sat dejected along the wall where they fell. The observer took in a deep breath. “Nice to be a free man again. Where’s the coffee?”
The faces of the team broke into wide grins and one peeled off his hat and leaned against the wall. “I had some doughnuts, but an alligator ate ‘em,” said Ricks. The men chuckled around him.