Psychic Warrior (4 page)

The walls of the conference room were covered with plaques and photos from Special Operations units all over the world. From the Royal Danish Navy's Fromandskorp set, to the now defunct Canadian Parachute Regiment, to the Norwegian Jaegers, the plaques were tokens of goodwill to the men of the 2nd Battalion, 10th Special Forces Group (Airborne) for various training and operational missions conducted with those elite units.

Dalton knew that each of those plaques represented a lot of sweat and time, and in some cases blood. He knew that because he'd been to every country represented on the wall and had taken part in practically every type of exercise with the A-Teams of 10th Group. What he also knew was that there were plenty of exercises and deployments that would never have a plaque to commemorate because they were too classified to be acknowledged.

Dalton had been in 10th Group, off and on, for twenty years, with some other assignments sprinkled in over the years. He considered the unit to be his home in the Army, although he had served in it at four different places. Fort Carson, Colorado, was a new posting for 10th Group, the unit being transferred there in the mid-nineties during a round of base closures that had shut down its longtime home at Fort Devens, Massachusetts. The 1st Battalion of the 10th Group had been staged forward in Germany since the unit had come into existence in the late fifties. First at Bad Tolz, a former SS training barracks, where Dalton had done two tours, then, more recently, when Bad Tolz was given back to the Germans, at Stuttgart.

If there was one constant in Dalton's military life, it was change, and this morning he was ready for whatever was going to be laid on the table. As soon as he'd come to work, he'd been grabbed by the battalion adjutant and told that there was an important meeting in five minutes in the conference room and the colonel wanted him to sit in on it

Since the briefing hadn't yet started, he had no idea what this was about but he had a bad feeling, mainly due to the glimpse he'd had of the two people in the colonel's office, which adjoined his. The man wore civilian clothes-a black turtleneck under an expensive blazer-but it was more than just the usual military distrust of those not in uniform that generated Dalton's negative feelings. Dalton had been in Special Operations for over thirty years, and he could read Agency in a man as easily as if he had the letters of his organization imprinted on his forehead with a bright red tattoo. The man was either CIA DIA, or NSA. The other person in the colonel's office was a woman, dressed in a tailored suit, her blond hair drawn tight. Dalton hadn't been able to get a read on her.

When Dalton had walked into the conference room, he'd noted there were two other people already there: Captain Anderson and Master Sergeant Trilly, a combination that Dalton found strange. Anderson was the battalion assistant operations officer. Trilly was the team sergeant for ODA 054. Dalton had greeted them both, then taken his usual seat next to the head of the table

ODA stood for Operational Detachment Alpha and was the official designation for the basic organizational element of Special Forces, more commonly called an A-Team. The company headquarters, one hierarchical level below Dalton but one above the ODA was the ODB, or B-Team, each of which commanded five ODAs. Dalton was the sergeant major of the battalion, or ODC, which had three ODBs in it, and fifteen ODAs. Anderson was the man who helped plan the missions all those teams went on.

What set the Special Forces units apart from the rest of the Army was that SF troopers rarely operated tactically at any higher level than the A-Team. The B and C teams existed mainly for command and support purposes. This placed a great deal of responsibility on those at the lowest levels and was the major reason Special Forces looked for very mature soldiers to fill its ranks.

Dalton had a lot of respect for Captain Anderson, who had commanded a team for two years before being brought up to battalion for the past year, but not as much for Trilly. Anderson was a West Pointer who had commanded a company in the Infantry before going through Special Forces training. He was six feet tall and in great shape, able to keep up with the physical demands of the training a team went through. He had dark hair cut tight against his skull, flecks of gray already appearing along the sides. The most important traits Anderson had, in Dalton's opinion, were the ability to know what he could do and what he couldn't and his willingness to trust his men to do their jobs. Too many officers that Dalton had served with over the years had held back their implicit trust from those they commanded, and in a self-fulfilling prophecy, that lack had eaten away at the integrity of the unit

The problem with Trilly, in Dalton's opinion, was that he simply didn't have enough Special Forces experience. Trilly had gone through the Special Forces qualification course as a senior E-7, after fifteen years of duty in the air defense artillery. He'd come to 10th Group three years ago, been promoted to E-8 six months ago, and, despite Dalton's misgivings, been given the team sergeant slot based on his rank. Dalton had convinced Colonel Metter to assign Trilly to 054, which he felt had the strongest team leader in the battalion, commanding what was probably the best team.
But where was the team leader?
Dalton wondered. If 054 was going to be used in some sort of operation, the team leader should have been present.

Dalton knew both of the men from a training experience they had gone through as part of a two-team contingent three years ago. One of those classified experiences that was not represented by a plaque on the wall.

Dalton turned his attention from the other men as the colonel and two civilians came in.

"All right," Colonel Metter said as he walked to the end of the conference table. "Let's get this going." He pointed to his right. "This is Mr. Raisor, from the Central Intelligence Agency. He's brought us a high-level tasking direct from Washington for one A-Team to participate in some rather unique training. Accompanying Mr. Raisor is Dr. Hammond." Metter pointed to the woman. "Mr. Raisor, Dr. Hammond, this is Captain Anderson and Master Sergeant Trilly. As you've requested."

That answered one of Dalton's first questions.

Raisor and Hammond leaned across the conference table and shook each man's hand. Raisor's grip was strong, his body lean. He had thinning black hair and a thin face that was bland in a way that Dalton associated with bureaucratic spies. But the man's eyes caught Dalton's attention. They were flat and emotionless, almost bored. Dalton had seen that look before. Dead eyes, the sign of someone who had done dirty work in the covert world, and the only time eyes like that came alive was when someone's life was on the line. Dalton had worked with men like that who relished combat, not concerned about the cost in terms of human suffering and death. That put Dalton on alert because it meant the CIA had assigned one of its few killers to this project. Raisor had something in his hand that he was fingering, but Dalton couldn't make out exactly what it was; only catching a glint of gold.

"And this is Sergeant Major Dalton, my senior enlisted man."

Raisor met his gaze briefly and Dalton swore there was the hint of a cold smile on the agent's lips, as if recognizing a kindred spirit.

Raisor pulled a manila folder out of his briefcase. There was a red Top Secret cover stapled to it. "Gentlemen, what I'm going to brief you on is classified top secret, special compartmentalization. You may not discuss this with anyone, even if they have a top secret clearance." Raisor's voice was low and smooth, one used to speaking in dark rooms about dark matters.

"The subject matter may seem a bit, shall we say, strange, outrageous even, but let me assure you that this is a very serious issue. First, though, let me make sure we can get the right people." He slid a piece of paper to the colonel. "Besides the two men we requested be here, we need a complete team, drawn from those who participated in Trojan Warrior."

“Trojan Warrior?" Colonel Metter asked. He had taken command a year and a half ago, after the program had been disbanded.

"It was a classified training program two of our teams- oh-five-four and oh-five-five-participated in three years ago," Dalton quickly told the colonel.

Metter didn't even look at the list, passing it to Dalton. Raisor's statement answered the question as to why 054's team leader wasn't here; he hadn't been on the team when it had gone through the Trojan Warrior training program. Anderson had gone through the training as the team leader of 055. Dalton didn't need to look at the list; he knew every man who had gone through that training and how many were left in the battalion from the twenty-five original members.

"It would be advantageous if you picked men from that list who did not have families," Raisor added.

Dalton put the paper down in front of him. "Because you think men without families are expendable?"

"Because we think men without families are better security risks for the duration of the operation," Raisor answered.

"Do you need a full team?" Dalton asked.

“Yes," Raisor said.

"We can't do that. Of the twenty-five names on this list," Dalton said, still not looking at the paper, "there are only seven left in the battalion. The others have either left the service, been wounded or killed in action, or moved to other assignments."

"Then give me all seven." Raisor sounded irritated.

Dalton held up the list. "What does Trojan Warrior have to do with this briefing? That program was dropped two years ago."

"We'll get to that later in the briefing," Raisor said.

"Then why don't we get started so we know what we're getting these men into?" Colonel Metter suggested.

Raisor looked at the other three Special Forces men. "I assume those of you who were in Trojan Warrior heard of Operation Grill Flame?"

Dalton glanced at Captain Anderson, who returned the look with a roll of his eyes. Trilly looked like he was about to answer, but Dalton beat him to it. "That was the code name for a Defense Intelligence Agency operation using remote viewers."

Raisor nodded. "That is correct."

"Remote viewers?" Metter asked.

"Psychics," Dalton said. "People who supposedly could see things at a distance just by using their minds."

"Not supposedly," Raisor said. "Grill Flame was real. And, contrary to what people believe, it still exists. We just renamed it. It's called Bright Gate now and we've taken over operational control of it from the military."

Dalton didn't blink at the implied slam from the younger man. "Besides Trojan Warrior, I know about Grill Flame from an operational standpoint"

That gave Raisor pause. "What was that?"

"When I was in Lebanon in the early eighties, your people brought in some Grill Flame operators to help search for the hostages in Beirut. We busted a few doors where they told us they 'saw' the hostages being held. We came up with nothing and almost got our asses shot off a few times."

"The success rate has increased dramatically since then," Raisor said. "So much so, that we're ready to take the next step. Combine Trojan Warrior with Grill Flame for something completely new."

The others in the room waited as Raisor stood. He walked to the podium in the front of the room. Using a remote, he turned down the lights. Dalton could see that the object Raisor had been playing with was a ring, which he had slipped over his left pinky. It looked like a college ring but it was much too small for Raisor. The projector came on.

Raisor's voice came out of the darkness next to the screen. "Gentlemen, we are passing into a new age of warfare. We are literally entering a new dimension. One where the commonly accepted limitations of physics and the way combat has been conducted no longer apply."

Dalton sighed and leaned back in his seat. He could just see Raisor briefing the Select Intelligence Committee in Congress with the same words and the same slides. It was the same way the initial briefings for Trojan Warrior had been conducted. He knew the slides hadn't been made up to impress a bunch of green beanies that were going to have to do what they were ordered.

"There has never been a jump in warfare such as the one we are making with Psychic Warrior. The commonly accepted nexus points of war technology--the use of iron, the invention of the firearm, the plane, the tank, even the atomic bomb--all pale against the radical nature of Psychic Warrior."

A new slide came up with the words Grill Flame written in bold black with red flames encircling the letters.

"A little background is necessary in order to understand where we are now," Raisor said. "Operation Grill Flame was started in 1981 as a joint Army-CIA program to examine the potential of remote viewing, or RVing-the ability to psychically see objects or locations at a distance. The primary responsibility for the project lay with the Army and the unit was based at Fort Meade.

"As your sergeant major has noted, the project had some growing pains. In fact, to read open source material on the project, you would think that the Army disbanded it four years ago and that no government organization is currently conducting research into any form of psychic operation.