Dev Blog 11: Getting to Know Bax, EoE Excerpt Pt. 3

This expanded skill set ripped my operational opportunities wide open. We returned to Iraq, of course, and continued to decimate AQI forces. But while in country, I wasn’t only storming buildings during raids, I was also conducting overwatch and aerial platform support (providing accurate fire from either Black Hawk or Little Bird helos).

And the recce troop took on its own missions as well. We’d go native, dress up in “twabs” (although we just called them “man dresses”) to look like the locals. Then we’d take a beaten up old ghetto cruiser out for a surreptitious drive through the least welcoming neighborhoods that existed on the planet in ‘07. At first, we started off just getting eyes on potential target buildings or trying to track down and confirm the location of a particular high-value target. However, over time we ratcheted up the intensity and aggression of these joy rides, transforming them from vehicle-borne close-target recce scouting missions to full-on vehicle interdiction HVT-hunts.

They didn’t see us coming... or leaving. As far as those AQI tools knew, a couple of their most important members would drop without warning... and without a target to retaliate against. The new addition of tightly grouped 7.62mm “ventilation” to the forehead and chest of their dead homies was the only evidence we’d even invaded their territory.

Meanwhile, elements of C Squadron’s recce troop were occasionally asked to take this show on the road. It was the first I had operated in real conditions outside of Iraq or its immediate borders since my first combat tour in Afghanistan as a Ranger.

We pulled off a string of low-visibility ops -- from advance force operations (AFO) meant to “prepare the environment” to snatch-and-grabs to straight-up hits -- all of which took place well clear of the designated warzones. Although, I guess, technically, when you’re openly engaged in a Global War on Terror (GWoT), they’re all designated warzones, aren’t they? The locales of these low-vis missions ranged from the obvious like Syria and Lebanon, to the somewhat less expected, such as Madagascar and Paraguay, to a few genuine surprises, including a handful of Western European nations.

In short order, I felt pretty at home with the recce troop’s mission set. That said, I’m not sure how well I fit in with the rest of the snipers. I did the job and didn’t run my suck, so I was accepted, but I was no longer the life of the party. I was a long way removed from my earlier days as an assault team leader, when I brashly led by instinct.

Then again, it was a bit refreshing not to have those expectations placed upon me. It didn’t bother anyone if my sense of humor was darker and more nihilistic than it once had been because, for the most part, the other snipers didn’t know any other “Greyhound.” And as I grew more comfortable with them, I’d pull the occasional prank or tell the most inappropriate joke at the most inappropriate time -- you know, when it felt appropriate -- and came back out of my shell, if only just a bit.

As for Berg -- I didn’t look to push my luck too much with him. I thought better of letting my “winning personality” shine through in his presence. At least at first. That would change in time.

I don’t think my early apprehension made me much different than the rest of the C Squadron snipers. In some very key ways, Foggy was a lot like Michael Jordan. I’m not just referring to his sheer skill, but the simple fact that most of Jordan’s teammates were generally indifferent to him as a person. Some disliked him. Others loathed him. But he was so damn good that no one wanted to be on any team but his. And I was sure glad to be on Berg’s side as opposed to the alternative.

As time went on, I got a better feel for Foggy and seemed to win a modicum of respect and sway along the way. Although I’m sure he would have begged to differ. That is if he begged. He would have simply differed. I did manage to persuade him to draft Mikey into the recce troop at the next possible opportunity, and Garriga’s inclusion made an already potent asset that much more effective.

But back to Foggy for a moment... Bo Berg’s gruff exterior masked a gruffer interior. His bad-ass-mother-fucker persona was no façade. He lived up to all the stories -- and he was amazing to watch operate. He was astonishingly light on his feet, period, let alone for a big man well on his way to turning fifty, and he was just exceedingly proficient. He was also tough as titanium, taking down all comers during one-on-one, hand-to-hand combat training.

But there was more to him than that as well. Yeah, I guess there might have been a bit of that clichéd “even though he was hard on us, he looked after his guys” side, but that’s not what I’m talking about it.

You know how I said the Unit’s selection process tends to seek out Type-A iconoclasts who are especially adept at learning new skills? Well, besides making for skilled commandos, a side product of that personality type is that it’s rather common that operators will pursue their passions to an almost unhealthy degree, regardless of what anyone else thinks. The guys are just wired differently and that can be expressed in any number of ways. So you tend to have a fair number of proudly idiosyncratic individuals strutting around the compound at any given time.

Well Berg wasn’t just idiosyncratic. Dude could be flat-out weird.

When Garriga was tabbed to become a sniper, he was subjected to the same add-on training I had been when I made the transition. And there was one aspect of becoming a full-blooded C Squadron recce operator I very much looked forward to introducing him to -- one I failed to touch on above.

As I toured him around the recce team room for the first time, I proclaimed, “Welcome to Flynn’s.”

“Huh?”

Not even the faintest look of recognition. So I tried again. “How about, ‘Welcome to the set of Starcade?’”

“...”

“Okay -- let me run this one by you... ‘Welco...’”

“Hey Bax, I don’t mean to change the subject, but, uhh, what’s with all the arcade machines in here?”

“Change the subject? That’s what you got from this? Seriously?” I just shook my head as Mikey tried to figure out what to make of the snipers’ impressive collection of vintage video game cabinets.

But it was no joke, as I explained. “Donkey Kong, Pac-Man, Q*bert... Consider this all a part of your training. The F-O-G considers them necessary to fine tune your essential recce sniper skills: pattern recognition, memorization, hand-eye coordination, reaction time, improvisation... you name it.”

“Are you kidding me? You are kidding me, right?”

“....”

“How did the sergeant major even get these? Guys get sent to the clink for less.”

That they do. SEAL Team Six founder Dick Marcinko did hard time following a conviction for the “misappropriation of funds and resources under his command.” It’s the Al Capone tactic; an easy way for one’s enemies to take them down, and Berg’s disposition had earned him his share of enemies.

The Unit has a nearly unlimited budget and a helluva lot of leeway in deciding how to spend it, but $50,000+ in ‘80s game machines for a team room probably wouldn’t pass muster. However, all the appropriate paperwork had indeed been filed.

You see, we conducted mountaineering training out near Park City, Utah, in early ‘07. That’s pretty standard fare for the recce troop. And I’m not sure how it came about, but during the trip, Foggy ended up attending the premiere of a documentary called The King of Kong. The film chronicled the rivalry of two men, Steve Wiebe and Billy Mitchell, who were battling for the Donkey Kong world record. For whatever reason, it really spoke to him.

Berg was seriously inspired and promptly put in the request for the appropriate training equipment that would allow the squadron’s snipers to “best exploit the strategies and teachings of Billy Mitchell.” Now, I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume that whatever bean pusher had to sign off on the request assumed the “Billy Mitchell” Foggy meant was the Billy Mitchell. Billy Mitchell, the Congressional Gold Medal winner. The father of the Air Force. The groundbreaking military strategist. You know, as opposed to Billy Mitchell, the first guy to complete a perfect game of Pac-Man. But either way, the recce team room got its training equipment, and it was no lark.

After bringing Mikey up to speed, I told him, “Better practice up, Castor. Foggy takes this seriously. Real seriously. If you can’t break 200k in Donkey Kong by the time we deploy, you’re gonna be treated like a pariah and wind up at the end of the bench.”

***

In a number of those “extra-warzone” operations I mentioned earlier, we were actually in play as muscle for the CIA. Delta and the CIA have had intertwined histories for as long as the Unit has existed. It’s just a consequence of the Agency’s position as the nation’s chief agency for collecting and analyzing foreign intelligence and the Unit’s status as the nation’s preeminent hostage rescue and counterterrorism strike force. However, that doesn’t mean the relationship has always been on the most favorable of terms.

General McChrystal’s inclusive efforts as JSOC Commander helped forge a tighter relationship between the two at a most opportune time; the CIA had reacted to the horror of 9/11 by immediately establishing counterterrorism as its primary focus. Before that it had been a relatively minor concern where it sentenced its misfits and dead-enders to career purgatory.

Under McChrystal’s guidance, we didn’t only learn to cooperate more effectively, we also figured out how to best collaborate in order to exploit one another’s strengths and weaknesses -- particularly from a legal and oversight perspective -- so that we could operate most freely and, therefore, most effectively.

This gets into a bit of legalese, but it comes down to the fact that Title 50 of the U.S. Code governs covert intelligence activities, such as the ones typically associated with the Agency. Meanwhile, Title 10 applies to the use of military force. Title 50 is subject to much more restrictive rules in terms of congressional oversight but is far more expansive in terms of scope. Title 10 is pretty wide open in terms of legally operating without Congress looking over your shoulder when it comes time to select targets and carry out operations, but it traditionally only applies in narrowly defined warzones.

The global aspect of GWoT changed that equation considerably. The signing of a few very helpful “Execute Orders” took the shackles off of JSOC, allowing Delta, SEAL Team Six, and a few other select units to start running a specifically outlined slate of missions in an expanded set of nations and still squeeze it in under Title 10. However, even in cases where this supercharged Title 10 wasn’t permissive enough, we were able to legally conduct operations in countries not outlined in the directives. This was done by temporarily placing our forces under the ostensive control of the CIA to take full advantage of the geographic freedom granted by Title 50.

Sometimes this meant asking the CIA a favor to get its rubber stamp on an op while keeping it at arm’s length in terms of mission planning and execution. Other times it meant doing the CIA a solid in return, supplying personnel who had the requisite skill sets and expertise to snatch a high-value target off the streets of, say, Damascus, Manila, or Valencia, and then get the hell out of Dodge.

Our recce troop became a favorite of the Agency for the latter. We wound up serving as a principal cog in the extraordinary rendition compartment of their long-running GREYSTONE program. I’m not sure when this started exactly -- sometime before I joined the troop in ‘06 -- and I’m sure it continued on long after I left the Unit in ‘08.

Anyway, it was very much a marriage of convenience -- a union formed to navigate legal loopholes. We joined forces to simultaneously crush evil and make short work of the various obstacles presented by legal semantics. And trust me, it’s every bit as much a war on semantics as it is on terror.

But regardless how much we needed one another, I never did trust those duplicitous bastards at the CIA. There’s almost an innate distrust of the Agency within the Unit. And there exists decades of scar tissue -- literal and figurative -- to justify those bad vibes.

Spooks trade in secrets, and I never met a case officer who didn’t have an ulterior motive. Even worse, no matter how incompetent or clueless they might be, they all seem to fancy themselves puppet masters.

Far too many good operators over the years have been burned or hung out to dry as a result. More than once, we took the fall for hitting an empty hole or grabbing up the wrong guy when we had in fact done exactly as we were asked by the CIA officer running the op. However, the spooks often had access to compartmentalized knowledge that we didn’t and were quick to fudge paperwork and mislead their superiors in order to put their contributions in the best light.

But at least at the time, we needed them and they needed us. You just learned to never drop your guard or put yourself in a position to get screwed over too royally.

***

And yes, I did say I got out of the Unit in 2008. The sniper gig was a positive one in a lot of ways. It extended my run at the Unit a couple more good years whereas before Foggy drafted me I was all but fried. Still, the constant rotation of three months on deployment, three months training on location, three months “at home” (read: training at the compound), and then repeat, continued to grind away at my soul... and my marriage.

Actually, I was gone even more once I joined the recce troop. Those renditions could pop at any time. I just couldn’t do that to me -- to her -- to us -- any longer. It was a heart-wrenching decision. I felt like a quitter. I just knew good people were going to die because I wasn’t in position to do the job.

I’ll admit, I was not overly excited about telling Foggy about my decision. He had taken a chance on me and invested a lot in my training, and now he finally had me at a level he was comfortable with. It’s also fair to say that he didn’t exactly come across as the warmest, most understanding guy when it came to such matters.

His reaction was not exactly what I had expected:

“Good. Now I don’t have to bother telling you to quit.”

I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders. “Boris, I must say, it sure is lovely to be wanted...”

In reality, I was wanted. When I told Berg I needed out, he was ready with another option. By this time, Foggy had put in more than the twenty years needed for retirement and was already lining up his next move. He told me if I’d join him, he’d offer me a flexible schedule and way more down time so I could spend some time with my family. And he waved around a shitload more cash than I was earning at the Unit so they could finally be taken care of properly. The pitch included something about an opportunity to not only continue serving my country, but do so in a way we were never allowed to before. He also made it a point to lay out my other options.

“How many years you got in again, new guy?”

New guy. Still. “It’d be right around fourteen.”

“Fourteen years. How many ops? More than a thousand? How many of your friends did you see die during those fourteen years and a thousand ops? How many people did you kill? You got the shit beat out of you. You’ve dealt with the mind fucks of this gig for close to a decade-and-a-half. You know what you got coming to you next? Zero pension. You know what else you got for your trouble?”

“This kick ass G-Shock watch?”

“Zero marketable skills that anyone in the civilian world care fuck all about.”

“Like I said, Foggy, it sure is lovely to be wanted.”

Who could possibly say no to a pitch like that? It turns out Berg’s new concern had been in the works a while. He was partnered up with a former Unit officer and they recruited a very exclusive team of operators to fill out the roster. The firm was called InPraxis Solutions, and its mission statement was every bit as nebulous as its name. Fuck, I still don’t know what it’s supposed to be exactly -- something about innovation consultancy. I think the brochure goes into some deal about utilizing special operations veterans to advise companies on how they can react and make sound decisions in a fast-moving environment or something.

Do you have a friend who can’t seem to describe what it is they do exactly? And when you bother to ask for clarification, your eyes immediately glaze over as they spout off a stream of buzz words? We all have one of those friends, right? Well, InPraxis is intentionally designed to be like that friend. Anyway, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, that was all a steaming pile of synergy.

In reality, InPraxis operated in a very low-profile manner and was offered a series of auto-renewing no-bid contracts from the United States government. Some of this work was for JSOC, but the bulk of it was for the Central Intelligence Agency.

That’s right, one moment I’m on the way out the door, the next I’m in bed with the Agency -- a CIA paramilitary contractor by any other name. Holy fuck. Do I need to work on my career transitions or what?

And Jen was pissed. I tried to explain to her that I had made the decision with the best interests of our family at heart. I basically reiterated Boris’ pitch. It was supposed to be for her. And for Katelyn, who was growing up fast, and now I’d actually have some time to enjoy that. But she wasn’t buying what I was selling.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that. That’s B.S. and you know it. It’s your excuse to claim you’re making a change but still stay in. Still stay away.”

That stung. Real bad. But maybe she was right because it didn’t alter my decision. Although, it was for them. It really was.