La Galite Island The Galite Islands, or Jazirat in Arabic, are a rocky volcanic group of islands that belong to Bizerte Governorate of northern Tunisia. Located some 25 miles northwest of Cape Serrat, the closest point to the Tunisian mainland coast and separated by the Galite Channel, and almost 40 miles NNE of the city of Tabarka, and about 91 miles south of Cape Spartivento in southern Sardinia. The islands of the group sit atop Banc de Galite. The centrally located main island, La Galite, is a little over 3 miles long east to west and a little under 2 miles wide on the east end. The area of the group is about 3.5 square miles, most of which La Galite accounts for. The main island has 650 foot high cliffs. The highest peak being Bout de Somme at almost 1300 feet which is topped by a yellow lookout tower. Piton de lEst, a cone-shaped peak on the southeastern end of the island, is almost 1200 feet high. Only a few fishermens families live on the island in a small village which is accessible only in the south on the bay Escueil de Pasque. A small compound consisting of five buildings sits at the end of a short windy road, a remnant of the years of exile of the Tunisian independence leader, Habib Bourguiba, who the French colonial authorities exiled on La Galite in the early nineteen fifties, was now being occupied by Ahmade Mahmoaud and three of his most trusted associates, Fareed, Jamal and Fisal. These are not fanatical Islamic suicide bombers. Their collective talents and experiences are far too valuable to be wasted on a single bid for martyrdom. These are very dangerous and dedicated men who take great pleasure their work. Religion, in any form, has no place in the minds of these men unless it can be twisted to fit their purpose. To their way of thinking there was no such thing as an innocent bystander or victim. Guilt by association was more in line with the philosophy that guides these men, especially if those so called innocent victims were in anyway associated with Americans. In the past three years, Mahmoaud and his men, known as the Soldier’s of Allah, have blown up two orphanages, a refugee aid camp medical station, a supply ship and destroyed a bridge as a truck convoy of relief aid was crossing. The fact that the organizations were in some way backed, not by the government of the United States but, by private organizations made absolutely no difference to these men. Americans were involved and that was all that was necessary. “We leave this retched island in ten days,” Mahmoaud said as he entered the small courtyard. “Is everything prepared?” “Yes,” Jamal replied. “How many times do I have to tell you? Everything is in order.” “As many times as I ask,” Mahmoaud shot back. “You worry too much my brother,” Fareed said. “In a few days we will strike another blow against the American Imperialists.” “This will be our biggest victory yet,” Fisal added. “Only if all goes according to plan,” Mahmoaud chided the three men. “Who is to stop us?” Fareed asked. “We are the only ones who know the full plan.” “That is right,” Jamal added. “Even those who are helping us do not know what they are a part of. What can go wrong?” “That is the kind of thinking that will be our down fall,” Mahmoaud replied soberly. “Something can go wrong at any moment, for any number of reasons. It is best to not let your guard down. Not even on this rock.” “Then move up the date,” Jamal grumbled. “If we leave now it will confuse anyone who might be watching us on this speck in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea,” he added sarcastically, waving his arms across the sky. “You are becoming paranoid it would seem.” “If it is all the same to you, I would prefer not to have this as my last resting place,” Mahmoaud grumbled in disgust as he waved his arm in an arc. “This rock that smells of rotten fish all the time.” “This is the last place on earth anyone would look for us,” Fisal added. “You should try and relax a little. Enjoy the evening. We’ll be off this rock soon enough.” Aboard USS Stingray Somewhere under the Mediterranean Sea The USS Stingray is a recently commissioned highly classified special purpose submarine designed for clandestine operations and insertions. Forward of the conning tower is a specially designed access chamber for use by Special Forces and their equipment for easy exit and entry while submerged. Capt. Nathan Garret has been Captain of the Stingray since her commissioning two years earilier. In that time the sub has been called on many times for special missions, clandestine insertions and recovery. Matt and the three other members of Thor sat in the Mess Deck finishing a dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy. “I will say this, the Navy makes a fine cup of coffee,” Vince said as he leaned back in his chair. “Still don’t like subs though.” “Relax Vin,” Matt chuckled. “We’ll be swimming soon enough.” “Still don’t see why we have to use a sub,” Vince grumbled as he shifted around in his wet-suit. “Because the island isn’t big enough to jump on to!” Matt laughed. “Excuse me sir. This just came in for you.” the young sailor said, handing Matt a folder. “And the Captain wants to see you in his quarters.” “Hang on a minute. Don’t leave,” Matt said, taking the folder and opening it. “Latest sat photos of the island,” he added, pushing his plate aside and laying several photos on the table. “Look. You can damn near see their faces.” “Let me see those,” Vince said as he stood. “Looks like four of them alright,” he said, studying the photo. “And one of them is waving at us!” he added as he laughed. “When did you get these?” Matt asked. “They just came in five minutes ago from the satellite down-link. They were taken about an hour ago according to the time stamp.” “Okay. Take me to the Captain. Vin you’re with me, you two get our gear ready,” he ordered Dewey and Paul. “Follow me sir.” Nothing is very far away in a submarine. In less than fifty paces Matt and Vince were delivered to the captain’s quarters. “Right on time Major,” Capt. Garret said as he stepped out of his quarters. “We’re getting close to your drop off point. Follow me please,” he added as he moved toward the bow and into the forward access room. “Are we ready Chief?” he asked the Chief Petty Officer. “Yes sir,” Senior Master Chief(SMC) Wilkins replied. “Re-breathers and propulsion units are checked and re-checked.” Turning to Matt, looking at his watch for a moment before he spoke, “You have thirty minutes Major. We’ll hover at sixty feet until you clear the hatch. We’ll be waiting for your location beeper for seventy-two hours only. I have no idea what the hell you all are up to and God knows I don’t want to either but good luck,” Capt. Garret said, extending his hand to Matt. “See you in three days.” With the assistance of two sailors Matt and the team donned their water-proof gear bag back packs while two other seamen loaded their propulsion sleds, which had their re-breather unit built in, into the access chamber. With each step in preparation SMC Wilkins re-checked and verified that all was in order. Only when he was satisfied could the mission begin. “Five minutes sir,” SMC Wilkins said, looking at his watch. “Time to close the hatch.” Matt and Vince stepped into the chamber, followed by Dewy and Paul, and positioned themselves over their sleds as the door was closed and secured. The sleds were specifically designed for clandestine operations. Each contained a re-breather unit, GPS and short range sonar similar to what fishermen use. Cruising speed is five to seven knots for two hours. A few seconds later the hissing sound of air being withdrawn and water coming in to replace it could be heard. Each man slipped their dive masks on and placed the mouth piece of their re-breathers in. Two minutes later the chamber was completely flooded, the light went out and the outer doors slowly opened. Matt was first out of the chamber followed closely by Vince. Both men hovered for a moment to get their bearings as they lay on their sleds waiting for Dewey and Paul to join up. Matt checked the GPS unit on the sled as did Vince before they silently moved along the pre-designated route starting at sixty feet under water and slowly rising as they neared the island with Dewey following Matt and Paul behind Vince. The sun had set already so with the exception of the faint green glow of the small instrument panels on the sleds they were in near total darkness as the sleds pulled them toward La Galite Island. After almost an hour Matt began to feel the surge of the waves as they came closer to the island and their depth decreased. Matt was first to break the surface with just his head. Vince followed a few seconds later. There was just enough light from the moon for them to make out a small beach with a jagged rock outcrop that would cover them from anyone seeing them come ashore. Matt and Vince’s sleds coasted in on the leading edge of a small wave sliding nearly silently on to the sand and gravel beach. Like a well oiled machine Matt, with his gear bag on his back, rolled off his sled. Vince rolled his gear bag off his back next to Matt, who grabbed the carry strap and moved up the beach to a small out crop of rocks. Vince secured Matt’s sled to his and took both sled back into the surf and handed them off to Dewy and Paul who took them out past the breaker line. Settling all four sleds into the bottom in a small sandy depression behind a large submerged boulder they switched off power on all the sleds. With all the sleds on the bottom, the temporary anchors secured, both men took one last breath from their re-breathers, dropped the mouth pieces and kicked for the surface. A few minutes later they were crouching next to Matt and Vince. “Sleds are secure,” Dewey whispered. “Straight out past the breaker line in about thirty feet. We have a little over and hour left on the batteries,” he added as he started to strip off his wetsuit. Matt and Vince had already changed into their tactical over-alls. Rolling his small combat pack on his shoulders, picking up his rifle and slipping his Boonie hat on he whispered, “We’re going to recon up the beach for a hundred yards or so. Stash the gear bags and follow up.” Matt had just settled into a position to begin scanning the area with his night vision scope when Vince crouched next to him. “See anything interesting?” he whispered. “Not yet,” Matt replied. Washington DC “This just came in Jim,” Stewart Kline said, handing Col. Bellows a piece of paper. “Thor has landed and will be maintaining radio silence for the next seventy-two hours.” “This is the part of this desk job I hate the most,” Bellows sighed heavily. “The helpless feeling of sitting around waiting.” “Those are our best guys for this type op,” Kline replied soberly. “Shouldn’t be any problems really.” “Ever been on an op Stu?” Bellows replied evenly. “I don’t do field work Jim. You know that.” “Things go wrong all the time. Any plan we make is only good for the first hour of an op at the most. After that you’re pretty much forced to make it up as you go. You should know you do all the comm around here.” “Point taken,” Kline replied. “But we have a lot that goes right too.” “Yes we do.” “You know there’s an office pool for time of execution,” Kline said, smiling slightly. “Twenty bucks.” “An office pool for killing a man?” Bellows replied in surprise. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” “There’s a side bet on multiple confirmed too,” Kline half whispered, slightly embarrassed as he moved toward the door. “Good Lord what have we come to?” Bellows replied. “Put me down for less than twenty-four,” he added as Kline reached the door. “Might as well go in for the extra three as well.” “What’s Kline grinning about?” Hughes asked as he came in the room. “Do you know about this office pool?” “Hell yes,” Hughes replied with a chuckle. “I got twenty on thirty-six hours and the other three as well.” “I have twenty-four,” Bellows replied, chuckling slightly. “Is this what we’ve come to in our old age Brian?” his tone turning more sober. “Here we are betting on the time of death of a human being or several in this case.” “All very bad guys Jim,” Hughes replied. “Besides, it helps these guys back here to deal with what they are doing in support of these executions. They all know what their parts are in this. A little office pool relieves a lot of tension.” “Executions,” Bellows grumbled. “That’s what we are isn’t it? Executioners?” “Yes I suppose we are just that Jim. What we are not, however, are the judge and jury. Those decisions are made but others.” “Well let’s just hope like hell nothing goes wrong on this one,” Bellows replied. “I hear ya there,” Hughes replied soberly. “I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be the one to have to tell Ian McIntyre his son was captured or worse, dead.” “Not to mention the other three with him.” Bellows reminded him. “You know what I mean Jim.” “There would be no reasoning with Ian,” Bellows said. “And no stopping him either. Even if he is getting close to sixty.” “Don’t even go there Brian.” Bellows shuddered. “Nothing will go wrong.”
Posted on: Sun, 26 Oct 2014 10:53:42 +0000
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