Chapter 10 – Silent Operations
Fort Campbell, Kentucky – January 1998
The biting winter cold in Kentucky didn't bother Jason Gibbs. He was used to extreme temperatures, suffocating tropical climates, and arid deserts. But that icy wind, blowing through the Fort Campbell training fields, brought something he hadn't felt in a long time: boredom.
He sat in the base mess hall, twirling a mug of coffee between his fingers, watching the soldiers moving around. His camouflage uniform was immaculate, the insignia of the 5th Special Forces Group clearly visible on his shoulders.
Two years had passed since his mission in Bosnia.
Two years of operations… but without combat.
In 1996, his ODA was sent to Liberia to evacuate American and foreign citizens during the country's Second Civil War. A risky mission, but without shots fired.
In 1997, the same thing happened in Albania, when the country's government collapsed and chaos took over the streets. Another precise, efficient operation… and without direct action.
Jason always knew that Special Forces weren't just about combat. Training, intelligence, and evacuations were just as important as pulling the trigger.
But after two years without feeling the adrenaline of war, he was beginning to wonder if he was in the right place.
He took a sip of his coffee and heard a familiar sound: someone pulling a chair in front of him.
"With that face, it's clear you didn't like '96 and '97."
Jason looked up and saw Sergeant First Class Nick "Ghost" Turner smirking, holding a tray of scrambled eggs and bacon.
"Those were important missions, Turner," Jason said, without much emotion.
Turner laughed.
"Yes, of course. The problem is you want something different." Something other than going in, evacuating civilians, and getting out without a scratch.
Jason sighed and set his mug down on the table.
"It's not even about wanting combat. I know these missions need to be done. But, man… two years without a single shot fired?"
Turner shrugged.
"Maybe it's luck. Maybe it's strategy. Maybe it's because we're in the right place at the right time."
Jason looked at him skeptically.
"You really think so?"
Turner shook his head.
"No. I just wanted to give you a motivational answer."
They both laughed.
Memories of Liberia – 1996
Jason remembered the operation in Liberia.
Monrovia, the country's capital, was a hellish place. The Second Liberian Civil War had turned the streets into combat zones, rival factions were vying for power, and civilians were caught in the crossfire.
The ODA's mission was clear: to safely evacuate American and foreign citizens.
The team landed in a CH-47 Chinook, disembarking at an abandoned former American embassy. The site was surrounded by makeshift barricades and burned-out cars.
The colonel in charge of the operation, a robust middle-aged man, handed Jason a tablet with mission data.
"We have approximately 250 civilians awaiting evacuation. Some are already organized here, but others need to be escorted to the extraction point."
Jason scanned the reports.
"Do we have active opposition in the area?"
The colonel shook his head.
"No direct threat, but the city is collapsing. Anything could happen."
The plan was simple: split the team, retrieve the civilians, and take them to the extraction zone at the airport.
Jason and Turner led a patrol to a hotel where 40 foreign citizens were trapped. The building was practically abandoned, the corridors dark and silent, the few occupants seated in chairs with anxious expressions.
An American woman stood up as she saw the operators enter.
"You came to get us out of here?"
Jason nodded.
"Yes, ma'am. But we need to be quick and organized. Is any of you sick or injured?"
An elderly man of French origin raised his hand.
"My wife can't walk well."
Turner immediately approached and helped the woman to her feet.
"We'll take care of her."
The evacuation was quick and silent. No shots fired. No confrontation. Just efficient work.
When the last civilian was placed in the helicopter and the rotors began to spin, Jason felt a small frustration within him.
It was a successful mission. But he didn't feel he had truly been tested.
Memories of Albania – 1997
A year later, history repeated itself.
This time, Jason and his team were sent to Albania, where the government had collapsed and anarchy reigned in the streets.
Chaos was visible in Tirana, the capital. The airport was packed with people desperate to flee, and Jason saw something that stuck in his mind: a boy holding a sign asking to be taken away.
He couldn't do anything. The mission was to evacuate American and foreign citizens, not to solve the country's crisis.
They coordinated extractions from embassies, hotels, and pre-planned meeting points. Once again, no real combat.
The team managed to get over 500 people out of Albania without a single injury.
Jason knew he had done something good.
But something inside him remained restless.
Back to the Present – January 1998
Jason snapped out of his memories and returned to the base's mess hall. Turner was still eating calmly.
"So, Gibbs. What's next?"
Jason took a deep breath.
"Training. And hopefully, next time, it'll be something more challenging."
Turner laughed.
"Be careful what you wish for."
Jason gave a small smile.
"I'm ready for anything."
And he knew it wouldn't be long before the action finally found him.
Chapter 11 – Shadows in the Desert
Kuwait Border – March 1998
The darkness of the desert stretched for miles. A warm wind blew lightly, lifting small particles of sand that mingled with the dust of the dirt road. The cloudless sky displayed an endless sea of stars, but for Jason Gibbs and his ODA from the 5th Special Forces Group, the scene was anything but peaceful.
They were on the border between Kuwait and Iraq, monitoring movements of Saddam Hussein's army, which threatened to invade the small Arab country for the second time.
The crisis began when UN weapons inspectors were expelled from Iraq, raising fears that Saddam was resuming his weapons of mass destruction program. The United States responded by sending forces to secure Kuwait and contain possible aggression.
And the Green Berets were the first to arrive.
Jason, crouched beside a military jeep, adjusted his headset and checked his weapon: an M4A1 with an ACOG sight and a suppressor attached. He looked at Major David "Iron" Callahan, who was scanning the horizon with night-vision binoculars.
"Movement?" Jason asked.
Callahan lowered his binoculars and ran a hand over his chin.
"Nothing significant yet, but there's an Iraqi patrol 400 meters away. Small group, maybe just an outpost."
Turner, the Sergeant First Class and sniper of the team, adjusted his scope on the M24.
"I mean, they already know we're here. They just don't know where."
Jason exhaled slowly. This time, the mission wasn't just to evacuate civilians or train local forces. It was something more serious.
They were preparing for possible direct combat against the Iraqi Army.
Infiltration and Reconnaissance
The ODA was divided into two smaller teams. Jason led one, tasked with infiltrating the dunes and gathering intelligence on Iraqi movements.
They moved slowly through the desert, their steps silent in the sand. Jason gripped his rifle firmly, his eyes alert to any movement ahead.
On the radio, Callahan's voice rang out:
"— Gibbs, confirm visual of the targets?"
Jason adjusted his night-vision binoculars and located a small structure in the middle of nowhere—an Iraqi observation post.
Two soldiers patrolled around it, smoking cigarettes and holding worn-out AK-47s.
"— Confirmed. Two armed men, possible reinforcements inside the bunker."
Turner, lying on a sand dune, aimed precisely.
"— If necessary, I can take them down now."
Jason assessed the situation. Attacking unnecessarily could escalate tensions. — Negative. Let's observe for longer. I want to know if they receive reinforcements.
Turner sighed.
— If you say so, boss.
Jason knew that combat was inevitable. It was only a matter of time.
First Exchange of Fire
The team had been monitoring the outpost for over an hour when, suddenly, a military vehicle appeared on the horizon, coming from the Iraqi side.
Jason grabbed his binoculars.
— We have a truck arriving.
Callahan replied on the radio.
— If it's reinforcements, it could be a problem. Gibbs, hold position, but be ready to engage.
The truck stopped near the outpost, and six armed Iraqi soldiers got out.
Jason felt his stomach churn. Now there were eight men. If they detected the presence of the Green Berets, combat would become inevitable.
One of the soldiers picked up an RPG and pointed it at the horizon, as if checking his sights. Jason immediately pressed the radio.
— Callahan, we have a problem. They have an RPG. If they suspect our position, we could be targets.
Callahan was silent for a moment, then said:
— Engagement authorized.
Jason looked at Turner.
— Your turn.
Turner took a deep breath, adjusted his scope, and pulled the trigger.
BOOM!
The first soldier fell before realizing what happened. Direct headshot.
Jason quickly aimed at the second target and fired three controlled shots with his silenced M4. The Iraqi fell backward, his rifle dropping from his hands.
Chaos ensued at the post. The remaining soldiers began firing in the dark, not knowing where the shots were coming from.
— Move! — Jason ordered, running to the side of the dune to change position.
Turner fired again. Another target down.
Iraqi soldiers tried to regroup behind the truck, but Jason and his team continued to systematically eliminate them.
In less than two minutes, the combat was over.
Silence returned to the desert, broken only by the sound of the wind.
Jason looked around.
"Status?"
Turner calmly reloaded his rifle.
"We're all in one piece."
Jason pressed the radio.
"Callahan, outpost neutralized. No casualties on our side."
The Major's voice came through the headset.
"Good job. But this means Iraq will realize we're monitoring their positions. Expect retaliation."
Jason looked at the fallen bodies and felt the adrenaline. The war hadn't started yet, but it was close.
Two days later, the ODA was patrolling a mountainous region when they were ambushed.
Jason was at the front of the formation when he heard a shot cut through the air.
"COVER!" he yelled, throwing himself behind a rock.
Bursts of AK-47 fire echoed through the valley, bullets ricocheting off the dry ground.
Callahan communicated by radio.
"We have contact! Three snipers in elevated position, right flank!"
Jason grabbed his M4 and aimed where the shots were coming from. He saw three silhouettes moving among the rocks.
"Turner! I need cover!"
Turner quickly took up position and fired. The first enemy fell immediately.
Jason took a deep breath, aimed, and took down the second with a short burst to the chest.
The third soldier tried to flee, but Callahan shot him before he could escape.
The combat lasted less than a minute.
Jason wiped the sweat from his brow and looked at the bodies.
"They were expecting us."
Callahan nodded.
"Yes. And that means more will come."
After three weeks of operations in Kuwait, it was clear that Saddam Hussein was merely testing the limits of the United States.
The presence of American forces and the actions of the Special Forces ensured that the Iraqi army did not make further advances.
When the order to withdraw came, Jason knew they had accomplished their mission.
On the flight back to Fort Campbell, he looked at Turner.
"Well, this time it wasn't just evacuation."
Turner laughed.
"No. This time there was excitement."
Jason nodded, looking at the horizon.
He knew this wouldn't be the last time he crossed paths with Saddam Hussein.
But that was a problem for the future.
Now, it was time to prepare for the next challenge.
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