Soldiers and Marines Saga, page 24
******
Dave Shelton was a lean guy, about six feet tall, with close-cropped gray hair, and a suspicious and unhappy look on his face, when he met me at the door to his headquarters.
“You are General Roberts?” He plainly didn’t believe it.
“Yup, that’s me and we need to talk.”
“Do you have any ID, Sir.”
“Yes I do,” I said, flipping open my wallet.
“Yes Sir, Thank you Sir. Will my office do, General?”
“Yes, but only if you offer me a cup of coffee.” His response was a deadpan face.
So much for being flip.
Shelton’s office was Spartan, as befit his command, whose members spent most of their time in the field. His seriously curious office staff jumped up in surprise when he called them to attention as we walked in.
“Colonel, I intended to show up quietly, and not draw attention to my visit with you. Obviously I have seriously screwed the pooch.”
Over a cup of coffee I began to lay it out. I told him I did some checking, and knew he’d been passed over for promotion, as all Special Forces colonels were at the time, no matter how well qualified they might be, and that he’d put in his retirement papers.
What I told him is that I’d like him to pull the retirement papers, and join me in France. The job would be to help set up a new unit totally outside of NATO, and reporting directly to the Secretary of the Army. I needed someone with his Special Forces background, I told him, who can step in, without missing a beat, if something happens to me.
“It’s code word classified so if you want to hear more you’ve got to sign this little thing. It says you’ll be dragged naked through the streets, and go to jail, if you breathe a word to anyone.”
“Does this commit me?”
“Not at all, it only commits you to never write or say a word about the operation to anyone if you don’t accept. Not even your wife.”
He read it very carefully, and looked at me very intently as he signed it.
“If you accept the position,” I told him, “you’ll be like me and everyone else we recruit, guys who have been passed over for promotion, and are being allowed to build retirement years with nothing jobs we got as a reward for years of faithful service, and lost blood. On paper, you’d be the deputy commander of a meaningless quartermaster detachment tasked with disposing of surplus military equipment being returned by our non-NATO friends and allies. In reality, you’ll be spending twenty-four hour a day trying to figure out unconventional ways to fuck the Russians, and help NATO win the war if one starts.”
Then I smiled and tried to explain.
“Lots of people make lots of plans. NATO’s full of them. But we’re going to go a really big step farther; if there is a war, we’re actually going to carry them out. That means we’ll identify the troops we’ll have under our command if a war starts, and we’ll have all the equipment, and supplies they’ll need so they can immediately start fighting. We’ll plan their operations, write their operational orders, and lead them into battle.
“The goal, if there is a war, is for us to throw the assets of our little off-the-books unit into NATO’s gaps, and hurt the Russians, and their friends, real bad, as soon as the shooting starts.”
I smiled.
“Here’s what we’re doing first, and how we’re going to do it.”
I summarized my plan for destroying the railroad bridges that the Warsaw Pact armies would need to bring in their supplies, and reinforcements.
Two hours later, and a quick call to his wife, who had already begun packing to go back to the States, and retire to some place in Georgia, and the staff of the 132nd Surplus Disposal Detachment had increased to two, and I had an invitation for a home-cooked meal so we could keep talking.
“Yes ma’am, we are the army’s orphans. The party line is that your husband's new position is a dead end job, a reward for his past services so he can build up his pension. It’s what they gave him instead of a promotion. And it’s okay to let that be known. In fact it might even be helpful, if anyone asks, if you say you’re not too pleased about him not being promoted but love the area where his do-nothing job lets you live.”
Jackie Shelton looked at me shrewdly with the hint of a twinkle in her eye.
“Yes, I certainly will not be happy about why Dave was mistreated by the army.”
I wonder what he told her.
“And please do let us know if anyone asks what your husband is doing, and I mean anyone, even grocery store clerks and casual acquaintances. Your husband and I will definitely want to have someone look into them. Rather deeply as a matter of fact.”
******
Dave took an immediate leave, and bid farewell to his troops at a change of command ceremony for his hastily summoned replacement. He and Jackie showed up a couple of days later.
When Dave arrived bright and early for his first day at the Detachment, the Marines were impressed by his Green Beret and the ribbons on his uniform. But they watched him closely, until I called in about ten minutes later, and cleared him. Dave was pleased with their caution, and refusal to tell him anything, until they were sure he was okay. He'd expected nothing less.
The Marines opened up as soon as they knew Dave was on the team. They also apparently passed the time filling him in about me. Being young Marines they knew all the details about me, and made up the rest.
******
“Jesus, Chris,” Dave said a couple of days later, “the Marines think you’re the biggest stone killer who ever walked the earth. They say you got the medal twice, and a whole bunch more in Korea, and you were at Diem Ben Phu, and have eight purple hearts. Is that true?”
I shook my head, “Sort of. But only six purple hearts officially. They’ll park your ass if you get hit too many times. Pass me that jar of coffee creamer, will ya?”
We began planning, and Jackie Shelton started looking for a place to live so she could get out of the hotel in Riems where she and Dave were temporarily staying. I asked her to keep her eyes open for something for me too. A house in one of the nearby villages would be great.
After a couple of days of talking and making lists, Dave and I had a pretty good idea of the personnel we would need for our initial operations. We’ll add more troops as we find more gaps to fill, and add more projects. We also made an important decision; everyone will work in informal civilian clothes in order to keep a low profile in the rural countryside.
Chapter Six
“Hello, this is General Roberts. Does Mr. Caine still work in this office?”
“It’s Roberts with an “s.” Tell him Guns would like to talk to him, if he’s available… yes, “Guns” with a “g.” Tell him it’s the guy who almost got his ass shot off in Korea.”
“Yes, Charlie it’s really me. How are you?”
“No. I’m not in town, but I’d sure like to fly in, and visit with you. Are you available anytime Tuesday?”
The MATS flight I caught out of Orly on Monday afternoon left right on time, and it was old home week Tuesday morning. Charlie told me he would have his thirty years in early next year, and intended to retire before it was too late to find something else to do. He said he’ do everything he could to help. What do I need?
“Charlie, I need to find some officers, or recently retired officers, with particular skills.”
I gave him the list, and explained that the men I need cannot have drinking problems, should have stable marriages, and wives that were willing to accompany them to France.
“It’s in a small French town, and it’s a code-word classified mission, and it’s important. They can expect to stay in France for a full four-year tour, maybe longer, or even permanently. It’s a great place to live, and would be a good place for guys with families.”
Charlie knew exactly what the mission was—it’s the idea he came up with for me when we served together years ago in the desperate days of the Korean War.
Charlie looked at the list and nodded his head.
“I can do that. How long do I have, Guns?”
“I’d like to get them as soon as possible, but I’m willing to wait a long time to get the right guys?”
The next afternoon Charlie handed me a list and a file on each man. The only name on the list for the administrative officer’s position was Chief Warrant Officer Charles Robert Caine.
I immediately called the detachment and left word for Colonel Shelton to call me as soon as possible. I gave Charlie’s office number to the Marine who answered the phone. Dave called back three minutes later
“I’m doing good,” I told him. “I have the names of a couple of guys we might want to talk to,” I said. “Can you fly over in the morning for a couple of days of interviews?”
That night Charlie and I ate steaks, drank beer, and told stories about our war. To my surprise, Charlie knew all about what I’d been doing since I left Korea.
******
Dave and I met newly retired Lieutenant Commander Michael Morton of SEAL Team Four at the modest San Diego home he had rented a couple of weeks earlier, when he and family had to leave his officers’ quarters. Mike’s officer evaluations make him out to be a superb and dedicated officer, and an expert on explosives. But he had been too busy as a SEAL commander to complete a college degree, and last month he’d been involuntarily separated because of it.
Charlie called ahead and set up the appointment. Dave and I parked our Hertz rental car in front of the house, and I could see a window blind move as someone peaked out. There were a bunch of kids’ bikes in the yard.
A relatively short squat mass of muscle, with grey-streaked black hair, immediately answered the door. A taller, and very concerned slender woman, obviously his wife, looked anxiously over his shoulder.
“Commander Morton?” I inquired with a smile. He nodded warily as I held out my hand, and introduced myself.
“I’m Chris Roberts and this is my executive officer, Colonel Dave Shelton, late CO of the Tenth Special Forces Group in Germany. We’d like to talk to you about taking a project officer’s position in a unit we’re setting up in France.” His eyes widened, and his wife put her hand over her mouth.
“Well, it sounds interesting but you’re a bit late. I just retired. Forced out actually. Didn’t complete my degree in time.”
“Yeah, that’s what we heard, but we can work around that.”
Charlie said he could handle it, so it must be true.”
Mike signed the confidentiality agreement and an hour later we had an experienced SEAL Officer on board to make sure our Marine and Coast Guard Swimmers were getting the right training, and didn’t blow themselves up, or attract attention.
His wife came in as we shook hands, and got ready to leave. The big grin on his face told her all she needed to know. She was in his arms weeping as we drove away.
Late tomorrow an army special courier will bring Mike a letter from the Pentagon telling him that his request for retirement had been denied, and that the clerical mistake leaving him off the promotion list to commander had been corrected. It would be accompanied by orders permanently assigning him to the 132nd Surplus Equipment Disposal Detachment, Riems, France.
Chapter Seven
The more I looked at the disposition of the Russian, and other Warsaw Pact troops and equipment, the more I could see a real weak spot—the Soviet rail lines, roads, and pipelines coming from the Russian East and running towards Moscow, and the East German, and Czech, borders with West Germany. The Soviets would obviously bring a lot of their replacements, and supplies, to the battlefront on those rail lines, if there was a war, just as they did in World War Two.
What was so interesting, is that a good chunk of those forces and supplies, were many time zones away on the Chinese and North Korean borders. They’d have to travel on thousands of miles of railroad tracks that cross numerous bridges, before they got to the battlefront in Germany.
As a matter of fact, during WWII, it was the ability of the Russians to withdraw troops and supplies from their Chinese and North Korean borders, and move them to the Eastern Front, that played a big part in turning the tide. At least that’s what the Soviet’s histories. Speidel agreed, and made much of it in one of his lectures on Modern European History.
Hmm. They’re probably planning on doing it again, if a war with NATO lasts very long. I would.
I was still driving to Tubingen periodically to attend classes, and use the library. So, a few days later, I made an appointment to see Professor Speidel after one of his lectures.
Professor Doktor Speidel, who won’t be taking up his position in the new German army until the end of the academic year, thought I was in his office to discuss an academic matter related to my dissertation. He was more than a little surprised, when I told him I was there to ask him why the Wehrmacht did not use its parachute troops to cut the Russian railroads, highways, and pipelines coming in from the east, and keep them cut.
“Because our plans were made by dummkopfs” was his pithy answer. Then he looked at me very intently, and invited me to walk with him in the university garden.
We talked about many things, including the future of the Soviet Union and how to fight it if it attacked Germany. The next day I received a note in my student mail box confirming that I would be awarded a bachelors degree at the coming graduation ceremony, and that he would be pleased to act as my dissertation adviser for my doctorate, even if he should temporarily leave the university to take up other duties.
A few weeks later, as Ben Talley had already informed me would be the case, Professor Speidel took a leave of absence from the university to accept the position of Commander of all NATO Ground Forces.
******
Our core staff was almost complete. Charlie’s transfer came through, and so did those of our air force mission planner, our aerial photo interpreter, a guard detachment consisting of a Marine gunnery sergeant and fourteen enlisted Marines provided by the Commandant to guard us, and the explosives we would be acquiring for our “swimmers.”
Of course, the transfers came through; Charlie drafted them and made sure they were approved.
Charlie stayed in Washington for a few weeks to tie up loose ends, and make sure his air force counterpart delivered the officers we recruited. Except for me, and Dave Shelton, it turned out that almost all of the men who arrived were practicing Mormons, and Baptists, and they were all accompanied by their wives and children.
“You said you didn’t want drinkers, and single guys who might talk in a bar, and blow our cover, or be susceptible to a honey trap. These guys are the best we’ve got, and they don’t drink,” Charlie explained. Works for me.
******
Yesterday was our first meeting with everyone present. We spent all morning talking about blowing the Warsaw Pact bridges, and not just the railroad bridges. A little before we temporarily broke for a brown bag lunch, I threw out the idea of putting in long range penetration teams to cut the Russian Far Eastern Railroad, the major highways, and oil pipelines as soon as the war breaks out. This would be done, preferably, on the first day of the war, at the same time we send in our swimmers.
I reminded everyone that the Germans failed to cut them in World War Two, and, as a result, the Russians were constantly able to bring in reinforcements, equipment, and supplies from the Russian forces that had been in the east confronting the Japanese and Chinese. Some military analysts, I told them, think that the failure of the Germans to stop the massive flow of Russian reinforcements, and equipment, coming in from the east, was a major factor in Germany not winning the war early on, when they still had a chance to win it.
I did not mention that General Speidel is one of them; they didn’t need to know.
“We might be making the same mistake,” I suggested, “because we too are oriented towards Western Europe when, in fact, a good part of today’s Soviet Army is once again in the east as a result of the war the Soviets fought with China in 1967 over the disputed ownership of the Usurri River lands.
“It appears,” I observed, “that the Soviets have twenty-six divisions with all their equipment in the east; and most of those divisions are located along the Trans-Siberian Railroad so they can be brought back quickly if a war breaks out between the Warsaw Pact and NATO.
“Interesting enough,” I explained, “they all got there on the railroad and that’s the only way they can get back because there are gaps in the road system, so they can’t be trucked back.”
Yeah, it’s true; the aerial photos are clear—you can’t drive from here to there, despite all the years of Soviet propaganda, and road maps, implying that the highway had been completed. In fact, the Trans-Siberian Highway has big gaps in it that have not even been filled with pioneer roads.
“Russia’s reliance on the railroad is important,” I suggested. “It means a good part of the Russian Army’ troops, and equipment, can be stranded in the east by blowing a few railroad bridges”
I’d already decided we’re going to do it, and blow a lot more than “a few,” but I wanted to get a sense of everyone’s thinking by seeing their reaction to the idea.
Dave shook his head, and disagreed.
“It’s a great idea, but we’ll never be allowed to do it. The politicians don’t want us to even think about jumping men into Russia for fear the Russians will jump Russians into America. The Warsaw Pact countries are okay for us to hit. Not Russia.”
“Who says it needs to be Americans?” I answered in response to his comment.
“We could get everything ready, and then use German troops from the Bundeswehr’s airborne and special operations regiments. I’ve reason to believe we’ll be able to get them.”
I didn’t tell them that I was sure Speidel would jump at the chance, and give us whatever troops we want.
Dave said he was pretty sure the Germans planned to insert a few teams if a war started, but was equally sure the Russians would know exactly when, and where, they would arrive.
