"From Whence...Part 2"
SIA Taskforce Utilized structure March 21, 2008, 2100 hours. Eric Schweig awoke under the table, remained motionless, breathing evenly, and listened. As expected, a minute later the door to the room opened, and he cracked an eyelid to see what sort of person it was. A military officer by his look and bearing, though he wore only the standard woodland camo fatigues, unmarked for now. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen" Gray spoke, perhaps a little too cheerfully. "Nap time's over. Time to move on in your testing. If you'll follow me? Eric had already sat up, shouldered the 50 lb pack, far lighter than some he'd carried, water and all, though he was sure he'd be feeling it by the end. He slid out from under the table and smoothly to his feet. He was awake, alert, and relatively refreshed after his exercise and nap. He gave a last look around, making sure he'd not forgotten anything, and got in line, the first there, he noted. He had no doubt he'd be the natural leader of the three others with whom he was matched. He would probably have to pull them along to some extent. So be it. They would come, if they did so eating dust the whole way, even if it caused them to operate more in the hopes of taking their revenge on him than for any other reason. When everyone was finally ready, some looking a little rushed, but under the time limit given, they marched after Gray out the door and across the hallway. Five yards farther on they stopped in front of a couple of elevators, and Gray spoke to them again. "You are about to embark on phase II of your testing, a more physically demanding test, I suspect. You will remain with your unit through the completion of this phase, and will have minimal interaction with others. Alpha unit, the left elevator, please, Beta, the right. Proceed to the ground floor, and an associate will meet you there. Good luck to you all." Eric, Cindy, Dennis, and Timothy filed, in that order, Eric noted, into the left hand elevator. The door closed on Gray's sympathetic smile, and with a wry grin, Timothy pushed the button. "Well, here goes everything, eh guys?" Grunts of agreement, more or less heart felt, were his only response at the time. The group had yet to feel itself out, to establish the team integrity that would be essential to success. Eric gave them four hours, and he'd have them working as a unit one way or another. He didn't bother to think too hard on it now, as the time would come, and he would do what seemed right at the time. The door opened, and they were greeted by a clipped, commanding voice from the shadows. "Come with me." Eric was right at home with the military styled leadership, but felt as much as heard the exaggerated derision in a muted snort from Timothy. Dennis kept his peace and Cindy seemed only to be straining at the bit to hit the ground on her booted feet. A number of paces and turns later-Eric un-consciously attempted to map it in his mind, though most of his attention was focused on the movement of the other team members-brought them to a good sized garage housing several vehicles. "Transport" the military voice announced, startling after the relative silence. The garage was occupied by a number of vehicles, their shapes large, as of vehicles designed to carry significant numbers of people and/or gear. They were non-descript, otherwise, in the darkness. The candidates were ushered into a van lacking windows on the sides or in the back, but a view out the windshield from the seats into which they filed. The seats, the whole van for that matter, were far more comfortable than either the military or Section 1 transports Eric was used to, which left him to wonder just what the attitude and disposition of this agency would be. The ride was an easy thirty minutes through darkening city streets like any others, avoiding landmarks until the signs for La Guardia came into view. New York, then, at least for the testing, was their staging area. Eric caught himself smiling a little at the realization that he was really back in the states, and not on a mission to kill anyone, as far as he knew. The Native American had an image to maintain, and quickly schooled his expression back to the stern neutral game face he'd adopted in dealing with the others. If he were to be part of a successful team, he would have to lead it. If he was to be effective as a leader, his authority could not be challenged. To keep from being challenged, he had to seem a daunting competitor at best, a serious threat to the wellbeing of the others if necessary. He thought of the others, of how he'd relate to them as he learned more about them. Strange though it might be, he never spent much time immediately prior to a mission LZ thinking of the mission itself, or of how he would deal with it. When the time came, all the thought in the world would help naught at all, and he would depend upon his training and instincts. Besides, in this case at least, he knew nothing of the upcoming mission, upon which to think. His mind wandered as he leaned back in the seat and waited for something to happen. The flight was, again, significantly more comfortable than he would have expected. They were born by a Black Hawk, the standard Special Forces transport chopper, but made somewhat more comfortable inside. A set of headphones and a full trag rack-harness & hardware for rappelling & rock climbing- hung on the walls near each seat, and Eric quickly donned his gear. Sitting and pulling his rucksack around onto his lap once the rest was secure, he noted that Dennis was done almost as quickly, and without having needed to see Eric begin the preparations. These things returned to a person like riding a bike, it was said, and Rangers as well as Green Berets practiced jumping out of choppers. The headphones allowed the passengers to hear the voice and radio activity from the cockpit, and he listened idly while mentally reviewing his gear. Everything seemed secure, but he would triple check before the LZ. It wouldn't do to have a loose compass or some such torn from a pocket during a fall. Military though the chopper was in make and model, it was, apparently, marked as a civilian craft, and had filed the required civilian flight plan and all that went with it. They would be heading to Utah, the canyon lands. Eric's countenance grew slightly grimmer, were it possible. He was headed back into the desert, the environment that gave him the most difficulty of all the team had encountered in the varied and rugged Afghanistan landscape. It would have been difficult to find an environment in which he had not operated or trained at some point, but they'd done well in choosing his least favorite. Some people admired a "beauty" in the desert, but Eric saw only the most heartless and brutal of killers, bent on the destruction of any and all that entered. It was flat, for one thing, with few geographical features of interest. Then it was hot, unbearably so if one were caught out in the sun without a great deal of water and clothing. With the flatness and heat came a lack of cover and concealment, both from the Evil Death Star the sun, and from any human bogies that might also be on the lookout. Give him a granite wall on a horn peak above a windswept glacier over a ponderosa pine covered valley, any day. That could kill, but only those who had no right to be there in the first place. That rock face, that peak, that glacier, that forest, those were the epitome of beauty as far as Eric was concerned. They were in for several hours of flight time, diverging from their rout on occasion, following the terrain or circling wide of commercial air traffic control radar. Eric wondered at this, as their chopper would not be cause for alarm or suspicion for anyone, and they weren't in hostile territory where SAM's might be a threat. Perhaps they were just seeing if the passengers could be shaken up somewhat before being dumped. Granted, these rides always seemed to rival world-class roller coasters as the pilots skimmed tree and power pole tops over hill and down valley over some of the distance. Timothy did appear somewhat uncomfortable, but Dennis and Eric were about as used to it as a man could get, and Cindy, though now wearing a game face of her own, did not appear to have much trouble with the motion through the dark. There was nothing to be said over the noise of the engine and rotors, the headsets connecting them only to the cockpit, and Eric took the opportunity to grab more sleep. Skies over Utah high desert, March 22, 2008, 0145 hours (O-Dark Hundred) "LZ in five" Eric was immediately wide-awake, adrenalin pumping, as he unbuckled his seat harness and stood with the assistance of the webbing running along the chopper's ceiling, hoisted his pack to his back, and checked his harness. It all looked and felt good, a tug on this and that strap or carabineer to make sure, and then time for the double check. He turned and motioned to Cindy, the choice of partner for the moment deliberate. He needed to make sure she was set, and to get a feel for her way of doing things. He signed his request for her to double-check his gear, and she did so as a practiced sport climber. He returned the favor, tightening one of her leg loops a little. As much as it might have been needed, he did it more to test her willingness to trust him rather than being defensive with her personal space, or some such. She bore the intrusion without protest, and both signaled their satisfaction with the other's setup by a slap on the shoulder and a thumb's up. Dennis had gone through the same routine with Timothy, and was making a final adjustment, and they were ready, standing at the door, and clipped into the ropes attached to the ceiling. They would fast rope down, almost falling at a freefall. They were clipped into the rope only so that, if necessary, they could double the rope back to add enough friction to slow their descent. Otherwise, they'd hit the ground hard, roll out of it, and unclip as quickly as possible before taking up positions in a defensive perimeter. At least, that is what Eric hoped they would do, the test being as unspecified as it was. Eric made sure to go last this time, watching the others disappear into the darkness below, giving Timothy the necessary encouragement, telling himself that Timothy's in-experience in these military tactics did not make him in-capable in other matters. He listened to the quiet thud of the first two, and launched himself outward just before hearing the third impact. Oh that feeling as his feet left the edge of the chopper doorway, before even the smallest catch of the rope in his figure eight device could be felt. There was nothing like that rush, and Eric gloried in it again, and as he descended, uncertain of the nearness of the ground and thus of the outcome of this jump, gloried in the fact that he might get paid to have such fun. There was the knot, marking the approach of the end of the rope near the ground. He squeezed his legs closer together, bending the knees slightly, feet extended a little ahead of the rest of his body, head tucked, and began to increase his grip on the rope as he doubled it back, just enough . . .Then the end of the rope was through his fingers, a split moment of space, and the darker dark of the ground rushed up to meet him, slamming into his heels. He took much of the impact with the bending of his knees as he doubled over, rolling forward and to the side with his momentum, coming to a kneeling position, gun raised. But he had no gun, so he raised what he had, a red-leansed pen light, and swept it back and forth, in and out. Nothing there, so he turned to look for the others, rising slowly from his kneeling position. He found them quickly by their voices. A few words of amazement at the ride and how well they'd come through it, and Dennis had pulled out the map and instructions he'd been given. Soon the others had gathered around it, Eric standing back a bit to listen and see how they did things. An argument ensued, as, it seemed, they had some amount of choice in routs to take, and how quickly to move. They were required to meet at the designated rendezvous point, a drainage to the south and down a canyon some distance, by 0600 that morning. That would give them five hours to cover thirty miles over the trackless desert, and down a rugged, steep, and narrow canyon. One was in favor of heading directly toward the rendezvous point, crossing the canyon when they came to it, while another insisted they'd have to head up-canyon to find a place shallow enough to cross. Eric approached the group silently, a stern look on face, a Carabineer in his hand. He depressed the gate, letting it snap suddenly back closed, the sound loud and sudden in the desert silence. It got their attention, as they stood staring at him like deer caught in the headlights. The Army Special Forces Captain addressed his newbie crew."All right ya bunch of wet behind the ears, barely off your mother's milk, bunch of pencil pushing city boy good for nothing wimps! Listen up and we'll get a few things strait. One, it's obvious none of you know anything worth anything about what you're doing, so I'll have to be in charge here. Two, enough of all this operational security cow patty. We've got a mission to accomplish, and I don't care how many brownie points your scout leaders gave you, or how high your Doom score was, none of us are getting anywhere unless we work together. That means knowing each other. So, you're going to tell each other who you are, what in the world makes you think you're so highly qualified, all looks to the contrary, and what you intend to contribute to this team! Any of you self gratifying, Jell-O for backbone, babies got a problem with that?!"It wasn't the Snowy Owl, nor was it his preferred manner of speaking, but the role had to be played, and he played it to a tee, or so he hoped. "SIR NO SIR!" It was all Dennis could do to keep from grinning. He'd been through this before, and though he wouldn't be cowed by it this time, he understood and appreciated the need for it. Besides, if this Eric got mad at him, he knew what the man was capable of, and he didn't want to be on the receiving end. Cindy looked mad, but chose not to challenge Eric at this time, instead cinching down her shoulder straps with a vengeance. What she might not be able to match in harsh words or strength, she would prove by superior skill, endurance, and speed in the cross-country race against time that was about to ensue. Timothy was somewhat cowed, and muttered a quiet "no sir." He looked as determined to succeed as Cindy, though, and Eric concluded that he would make it through, one way or another. "All right. I'll begin. They say my name is Eric Schweig, and you may address me as such in their presence, but to you I am Captain Snowy Owl. I'm a Green Beret of two years, saw combat in Afghanistan and since, and will wipe the floor with anyone that gets in my way, ever. My MOS, achem, that's Military occupational specialty for you civies, is covert long range recconaisance patrol, or LRRP, which means I go a long ways, secretly, to see what the enemy is up to. Same as we're doing here. I'll take point, with whichever one of you thinks you can navigate right behind me. We'll have the moon to make things slightly less difficult. Next?" "Cindy Murdoch." Her voice began tight, but she clearly enjoyed some of what she spoke of, and relaxed a little, realizing the necessity of the routine."Staff Psychologist at Mc-Donald Douglas, coordinated staff challenge, teambuilding, and leadership courses in Oregon. I've competed in the Eco-Challenge Borneo and other adventure races, and won regional orienteering competitions in the valley. I'll find us a rout where we're going." "All right, Candy, you're behind me. Keep up." "Dennis Ellway, 82nd Airborne Rangers, light machine gunner. I also saw action in Afghanistan, though not nearly as much, apparently, as our fearless leader, Sir."Another grin. Even in the formal military, he could have gotten away with that jab, having added the "Sir" to the end."I can run faster, farther, carrying more weight, and shoot straighter at the end, I recon, than the rest of y'all, or most other **** wannabees, for that matter. I've won the NY state & national cop competitions in such ****, last four years running. I recon I might've had more experience in the desert than the rest of y'all too. They liked this **** kind of torture back in the **** 82nd. I'll be right behind y'all all the way." Playing the roll of the rough, tough soldier, he flashed what might have been a hungry grin, though the dark made it hard to tell, at Cindy, receiving a hiss in return. "Enough!" As he stepped forward, the others all but snapped back to attention. "Children. We've work to do. Menus, you can help me. Tiny Tim, speak up, unless, of course, the cat got your tongue for once!" "Uh, uh huh. Yes sir. Timothy Ludowsky, Cryptography department manager for Adobe Software Company. But I do get out! Connecticut Triathlon champion three years in a row, and I work out besides. I can carry my weight, and if you've got numbers to work with, I'm your man." "That'll do Tiny, that'll do. Now, Candy, wouldn't you agree it would be best to take these fixed ropes down into the canyon?" He shined his penlight briefly on the plastic map provided. She scowled a little at his use of the nickname he'd coined for her, as well as at the fact that he'd picked up on the ropes she'd missed, and on his first glance at the map, but after a second look she agreed. "Okay, shoot us a bearing. Make sure you're all ready to go, drink some water, and de-layer till you're cold. We'll be moving constantly at a high intensity and will get hot quickly. Candy, you're behind me, then Tiny, and Menace, you've got sweep. Clear?A "whooyah" from Dennis, and muttered affirmatives of other sorts from the rest. Cindy was sure of her direction on her third try, Eric confirmed it, and they were moving as Timothy stuffed a jacket into his pack on the run, and the others tightened down their straps. At first it was rough going, the ground visible ahead under the moon, but obstructions seeming to pop up from nowhere. Eric set a fast but steady pace, not quite at a jog, but something faster than a walk. The others had no trouble keeping up initially, but variances arose as the terrain changed. More importantly, they didn't know each other's movement, and had to stop a couple of times to re-group as one ran into another, or as another fell momentarily behind. By the end of the first half hour, though, as they reached the midpoint of the initial, and largest climb in the day's course, they had found their rhythm. They and marched along silently with a good even space between them, keenly aware of the others and of their newfound place in the line. They had a good sized hill, 2000 feet high, in fact, to climb first, then a quick drop to the canyon edge, a long rappel, and down river to the tributary canyon they'd have to find their way up to the rendezvous point. Return