Jamie Fredric
Shanghai Mission
For All Those Who Have Served
All Gave Some, Some Gave All
To Gregg: Stay safe, my friend. Godspeed.
Introducing — Team Alpha Tango
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, some 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”; pilot; fluent in French and German; “Yankee Eight-Four”
PART I
The Missions
Chapter 1
Day temperatures of ninety degrees seemed cool compared to the typical scorching hot days of summer that were still a month away. But heavy rains had already begun. Many areas of the lowlands were flooded.
Surprisingly, this night was unusually clear with a full moon. Winds were only ten knots, blowing from the east, just enough to rustle leaves of rosewoods and wild cedars.
Eight men cautiously, slowly wove their way through the heavily treed forest until they were within twenty yards of the clearing. Perspiration dripped from their bodies, and stung their eyes.
Their trek had taken nearly three hours after slogging through mud and muck before finally reaching their extraction site, an abandoned dirt runway. Two of them took up positions behind the others, keeping an eye out for any “unfriendlies” who might be tracking them.
Seven were dressed out in full camouflage gear. One wore civilian clothes. His hands were tied in front of his body. A strip of duct tape covered his mouth. Mud splattered his clothes, shoes, face. Dark brown hair that hung nearly to his shoulders was tangled and matted. He’d been manhandled since he’d been captured.
Grant looked quickly at his submariner. Forty minutes until sunrise, he thought. He raised the Starlighter, scanning the sky above the treetops. They had to be ready. There’d be little time between getting to the plane then taking off. Lights and sound of the plane would undoubtedly attract attention.
“Almost 0500. See anything, Joe?” he whispered.
“Not yet,” Adler answered. “Wait one! Ten o’clock.”
“I see it,” Grant responded. “Everybody! Get your gear!” He continued watching as the lights got brighter. Finally, they were able to hear the Gulfstream’s engines.
Cautiously making their way nearer to the edge of the clearing, they got down on a knee, keeping their weapons ready. Calculating wind direction, they had positioned themselves at the end of the field where they anticipated the jet would takeoff. They’d have to put their senses on full alert once the plane landed. With the noise of the engines, it’d be nearly impossible for them to detect anyone coming through the forest, determined to stop their escape.
Within minutes of their spotting the plane, it touched down nearly opposite from where they were hiding. The pilot held it steady as wheels bounced over uneven ground. Without coming to a complete stop, he turned the aircraft sharply, then revved the engines, racing back to the takeoff location. The co-pilot was already standing by the exit door. As the aircraft slowed, he unlocked the door, then hit the switch to automatically lower the steps. Then, he drew his .45 from his side holster.
Adler grabbed the civilian’s arm, running full bore for the jet, with Grant right behind them. The other five team members hung back, waiting until Grant and Adler were safe.
The pilot looked out his side window, keeping an eye on them as he revved the engines to a percentage of full power. Pressing hard on the brakes, he waited for his passengers to board.
Shoving the civilian through the doorway, Adler shouted, “We’re in!”
Grant signaled the men, “Move it! Come on!
Immediately, Stalley, James, Diaz, left their positions, racing toward the plane. Just as they reached the aircraft, blasts from automatic weapons erupted from within the forest. Muzzle flashes pinpointed the position of at least a dozen men, wearing old green fatigues, who were tearing through the last fifty yards of cover.
The two remaining team members, Novak and Slade, returned fire at the oncoming attackers. Within seconds of reaching the clearing, both men tossed stun grenades. Turning quickly and ducking down, they hauled ass, running in a zigzag pattern.
The “flash-bang” grenades exploded, bursting into intense white lights that left the attackers temporarily blinded. The extremely loud explosion caused them to lose all sense of hearing. With the fluid in their ears disrupted, they became completely disoriented, and dropped their rifles. Some fell to their knees, others stumbled around, trying to regain balance while waiting for some semblance of normal vision to return. The physical effects wouldn’t last long, but it would be just enough time for Novak and Slade to reach the aircraft.
Grant stood at the bottom of the steps, shouting, “Let’s go! Let’s go!” Novak and Slade practically dove into the cabin.
Once everyone was inside, Grant took up a position just to the side of the door looking for any sign of a secondary attack. “Get us outta here!” he shouted to the pilot. The co-pilot immediately secured the door, then hurried to the cockpit.
The Team hardly finished buckling seat belts when the pilot suddenly released the brakes, as the jolt forced everyone against their seats.
Building up speed rapidly, the plane began its takeoff roll. With throttles steadily being pushed to full power, it sped over the old runway. The pilot maintained the jet’s attitude and its angle of incidence. As it reached the rotation speed, he raised the nose to its roll-out angle. The nose wheel left the ground, just as a sound of rifle fire erupted behind it.
The plane’s ascent continued as the wings cut into the wind, changing the speed of the air over the top. Finally, it was airborne. Within no time it began a slow, wide bank. Eighteen minutes later it reached its cruising altitude. Its heading: Northeast. Its final destination: Virginia.
Grant focused on the man facing him, who was breathing hard, sweating profusely. Enrique Caldera was second in command to Paolo Sentiva, Nicaragua’s drug kingpin. Caldera had established a connection in the U.S., and had been in charge of running drugs between Nicaragua and Texas.