Cat and Mouse: A Novel - Softcover

Coyle, Harold

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0765344610 ISBN 13: 9780765344618

Publisher: Forge Books, 2008

Synopsis

Deep in the sweltering jungles of the Philipines, Nathan Dixon and the Third Regiment of the Seventy-Fifth Ranger Battalion are fighting an elusive and deadly force. Nathan and his unit face one bloody encounter after another with a small but highly trained corps of Islamic terrorists. And though the death toll keeps rising, the Rangers' battalion commander has convinced most of his superiors that he has an all but foolproof plan for defeating the enemy. But back in Washington, Nathan's father, Lieutenant General Scott Dixon, the deputy chief of staff for operations with the U.S. Army, realizes that if the mission continues, many more Americans will be wounded or killed―perhaps even his own son.
A dual game of cat and mouse is played out both in the jungles of Mindanao and in the halls of Washington, D.C. Nathan Dixon must deal with a battalion commander whose willing to set aside his battalion's safety for personal gain. Scott Dixon must go head-to-head with a stubborn chain of command that refuses to alter a plan of attack, even in the face of a losing effort. And all the while, a new terrorist is rising to power in Southeast Asia, Hamdani Summirat, radical Islam's most charismatic and strategic leader yet. And everything is falling perfectly into his master plan.

About this title

About the Author:

HAROLD COYLE graduated from the Virginia Military Institute and spent fourteen years on active duty with the U.S. Army. He is the New York Times bestselling author of nine novels, including The Ten Thousand, They Are Soldiers, God's Children, and More than Courage. He lives in Fairfax, VA.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Chapter One MINDANAO, PHILIPPINES A Hollywood producer could not have staged a more striking scene than the one Company A, 3rd Battalion of the 75th Rangers, presented as they sallied forth from the shade provided by the hangars they had been waiting in. In single file, the Rangers trotted out into the bright sunlight that beat down upon the tarmac. Doubled over by the weight of their gear, they made for a row of waiting UH-60 Blackhawk helicopters, straining to be unleashed like a herd of Thoroughbred racehorses being held in check at the starting gate by their attentive jockeys. Not a hint of cloud corrupted the stunning azure sky above them. Only in the distance, just visible above the vibrant green jungle that surrounded the airfield did a darkening sky on the horizon serve notice to all that a line of violent storms was coming on fast. The stage manager of this little drama was Captain Nathan Dixon, a twenty-eight-year-old graduate of the Virginia Military Institute, who looked more like someone you’d bump into on the corner of Broadway and Wall Street than the stylized image that comes to mind when one thought of the commanding officer of a Ranger company. Nicknamed Nate by his friends and referred to as “CD” by the enlisted personnel in his company, Dixon relied upon his easygoing, confident manner to motivate his subordinates. That did not mean that he was a weak leader. When the situation required it he could conduct himself in a manner that would intimidate a great white. It was a skill he had learned from his father, a man who could bring an errant son to bay with a single, scathing glance. Fortunately, for all parties concerned, Nathan’s adroitness as a leader, coupled with an innate knack for small unit tactics, tended to make the occasions when he needed to rely upon such techniques to motivate those entrusted to his command quite rare. Without exception everyone in his company was more than willing to follow him wherever he led. Despite being of average height Nathan Dixon stood out even in the middle of soldiers similarly decked out in their full panoply of equipment and weaponry. This was an attribute that subordinates like his first sergeant found very useful at times like this. Having finished issuing instructions to the company clerk, First Sergeant William Carney headed out onto the airfield behind the last stick of Rangers who had been awaiting the word to board their assigned helicopters. When he reached the spot where Dixon was observing the embarkation of his First Platoon, Carney sidled up on his commanding officer’s left. Yelling in order to be heard over the whine of the Blackhawks’ turbine engines, he made his presence known. “Captain, what makes you think the Sulu Sea is going to keep our new battalion commander from finding you?” A playful grin lit Dixon’s face as he turned toward his first sergeant. “I know not what you speak of, First Sergeant. I’m just going with the boys out into the jungle for some unscheduled play time.” Word that the lieutenant colonel who had just assumed command of the 3rd of the 75th was scheduled to arrive that afternoon to conduct an unannounced inspection of Dixon’s forward deployed company had been leaked to Carney by the battalion’s operations sergeant back at Fort Lewis, Washington. When Carney informed Dixon of this he changed his mind about accompanying his First Platoon on a five-day operation on the island of Jolo. It was a routine mission, one that was undertaken by one of Dixon’s platoons every week or so. These forays had the dual purpose of patrolling areas where terrorists were known to be operating as well as providing the Rangers who belonged to the forward deployed company valuable training. Every now and then Dixon went along more to break the monotony, hone his own skills, and become more familiar with the areas where his company was operating than out of a need to supervise the platoon leader to whom the mission had been assigned. Up until that morning Dixon had been satisfied to sit out this particular patrol back at the company’s base camp located north of Zamboanga on the island of Mindanao. Word of the surprise visit quickly convinced him to change his plans. “You can run but you can’t hide, Captain,” Carney chuckled. “It won’t take the colonel long to track you down and catch the next resupply hop to Jolo.” Dixon winked. “By then we’ll be in the midst of the operation, circumstances that will limit the amount of time I’ll have to spend with El Jefe.” Pronounced hef-a, which was Spanish for “chief,” the reason why the officers in the battalion had taken up calling their new battalion commander “El Jefe” even before he had arrived was a mystery. It was just one of those things that someone started and stuck. After taking a moment to inspect Carney from head to toe, noting that he was also arrayed in full battle kit and was toting his M-4 rifle as well, the smirk on Dixon’s face grew. “I see you have no intention of staying behind to cover my rear.” “As they say back home,” Carney quibbled, “it’s not my job.” “So you’re leaving the XO here to take the fire.” “It’ll be good for Lieutenant Quinn, especially since he’s always moaning about how company executive officers never get the face time they deserve. The way I see it, by the time he’s able to arrange transportation for the colonel he’ll have had his fill of one-on-one time with El Jefe.” Peter Quinn, Nathan’s executive officer or XO, was a meticulous, hard charging professional, one who tended to become flustered when forced to deal with matters he considered to be trivial and nonmission essential. The image of his XO playing host to their new battalion commander caused Dixon to roar. As he did so he took note that the last man belonging to first platoon was climbing into his assigned helicopter. After composing himself, Dixon scanned the dark, ominous sky to the north. Tugging on Carney’s sleeve, he pointed to the coming storm. “If we’re going to make good our escape we’d best be going before that line of squalls hits the airfield.” Then, he pointed to a Blackhawk farther down the line. “I think it would be a good idea if we spread the wealth. Lieutenant Grimes is on the first chopper. I’m manifested on the second. You go with Jones’s squad on the number-three slick.” Carney nodded as he gave his commanding officer a quick salute and the customary “Hooah,” a term that served the Rangers as a greeting, a verbal salute, an exclamation of joy, an acknowledgment at the end of a conversation, and a number of other ill-defined purposes that nevertheless always seemed to be understood and appropriate. Satisfied that all was in order Dixon gave the line of Blackhawks straining to be cut loose one last look before tucking his head down low and making for the one he would use to whisk him away from the clutches of an ambitious new battalion commander who was headed his way like the late afternoon storm. JOLO ISLAND, PHILIPPINES When viewed from the helicopter’s open door the jungle didn’t look very threatening or dangerous. Like all of nature’s wonders it had a unique beauty all its own, one that was best enjoyed from a safe distance. But Lieutenant Colonel Robert Delmont knew that appearances were deceiving, especially when Mother Nature was involved. To him the jungle was like a cat, a very large and ill-tempered one who kept her deadly claws concealed until it was too late. This analogy was all the more appropriate since his dislike for the jungle was only slightly more pronounced than his disdain for cats, creatures that possessed a streak of independence that tended to annoy the career officer. By nature Delmont was a dog person, the sort of man who expected prompt and complete obedience. His own collection of canines included three purebred beasts. Two were Labs, a chocolate and a gold. The third was a German Shepherd, his personal darling and the offspring of champions. When not busy making the world safe for Democrats Delmont spent as much time as he could training and caring for those animals, a fact that did little to endear him or his pack to the human members of his family but won him the unflinching devotion of his four-legged charges. Neither his wife nor his children were ever able to come to terms with the idea that the dogs they shared a house with provided the reputed head of their family with an escape from the demands that his professional and personal life placed upon him. They failed to understand that when alone with his Labs and Shepherd Delmont found himself in a perfect world, one in which he was the unquestioned master. It was a place where any and all infractions of his rules, regardless of how slight or unintentional, could be handled with little more than a stern reprimand or, if serious enough, the application of a suitable punishment. Yet no matter how severely he castigated or admonished his animals, they never showed a hint of resentment or lingering anger. Instead, even in the wake of a harsh thrashing his trio of dogs were always quick to beg his forgiveness by demonstrating an appropriate degree of contrite submission. This is not to say that Robert Delmont was a cruel or uncaring man. On the contrary. When the situation called for it he could be quite compassionate, a loving husband, and a doting father. If he had any faults it was his inability to understand that the country he was sworn to defend and the Army to which he belonged was populated with far more cats than dogs.Without really giving it much thought Robert Delmont modeled his career after the behavior of his beloved dogs, a proclivity that endeared him to all the right people. At times his steadfast loyalty to superiors that didn’t deserve it was difficult, even painful. Like all career officers he occasionally found himself the subject of undeserved verbal abuse and tirades. Yet his willingness to swallow his pride and endure this sort of treatment without a whine or whimper was not without its rewards. Rung by rung Delmont ascended the prescribed career ladder by doing exactly what he was expected to do and angling for those assignments that conventional wisdom dictated. In this he was greatly aided by a knack for aligning himself with superiors who had been pegged as rising stars by those in the Army who mattered. Eventually he became viewed as one himself, an officer worthy of being groomed for bigger and better things. Though no one told him as much, by the time the results of this year’s group battalion command selection board were published, it was clear to all who understood the system that there were stars in his future, provided he continued to perform. That is how a Special Forces officer, fresh out of an assignment in the Pentagon, managed to secure the command of a Ranger battalion. Originally Delmont had been slated to take over a 380-man-plus Special Forces battalion. From a career standpoint it was both a logical and natural progression for him, not to mention a choice assignment that many a career officer would die for. Still, it was one that would have made him little more than a manager, charged with overseeing the support and administration of his battalion’s far-flung “A” teams, the twelve-man units that did all the muddy boots stuff, and the three eleven-man “Bravo” teams, each capable of supporting six “A” teams in the field. Even during a major regional contingency, more popularly known as a war Delmont would have little to do with the actual conduct of operations and no opportunity to personally participate in combat operations. Due to the nature of their work there would be times when even he would not know where many of his own troops were or what they were doing. A Ranger battalion on the other hand provided an officer of his grade the opportunity to actually command in the field. While still part of the Army’s Special Operations Command Ranger battalions were organized along conventional lines. Squads formed platoons, which belonged to companies that in turn were integral parts of a battalion headed by a lieutenant colonel selected by a Department of the Army board comprised of full colonels who had completed successful battalion commands themselves. Successful command of a battalion would boost Delmont up the next rung in the career ladder when he moved into the zone of consideration for the next higher rank. The officers selected to sit on that board would be required to review the promotion package of every officer eligible to be considered for the grade of O-6, or full colonel. It is a simple process but a long and tedious one, one that allowed the board members something like two minutes per promotion package. Two minutes. In those two minutes each board member had to determine if the officer under consideration was worthy of promotion, if his performance in past assignments indicated that he was capable of handling greater responsibilities. Unable to read every word on every officer evaluation report, board members tended to look for indicators, little cues that stood out and marked this man as being indispensable to the future of the Army. This meant that the sort of battalion a lieutenant colonel had commanded was critical since not all battalions were viewed as being equal. While important in the overall scheme of the Army as a whole a basic training battalion did not require the same sort of leadership skills or place the same demands on its commander that an airborne infantry battalion assigned to the 82nd Airborne Division did. It goes without saying that the officer who had completed a successful command of the airborne battalion was more likely to be viewed by the colonels on the board as more deserving of promotion than the one who had been more or less a chief administrator responsible for tending to the needs of basic trainees. Even more impressive is a former commander who had led his battalion into battle, something that a basic training battalion never did. It also didn’t hurt if the officers on the promotion board understood without having to be told what the battalion did. Everyone knew what a Ranger battalion was, a fighting unit whose organization wasn’t much different from an airborne or light infantry battalion. The same could not be said of a Special Forces battalion. Unless the members of the board had themselves been in the Special Forces, few fully appreciated the duties and responsibilities that commanding it carried. Hence, given the choice between selecting an officer who was fully qualified and had commanded a Ranger battalion versus one who was equally qualified and had commanded a Special Forces battalion, odds favored the former. Robert Delmont understood the career game very well. He followed the trends, listened to the stories that made their way through the rumor mill, and analyzed the statistics that accompanied the publication of each board’s results. He knew who was being promoted, who wasn’t and why. For this reason he was determined to secure the command of a battalion that was not only actively engaged in counterterrorism operations but one that would afford its commanding officer numerous opportunities to play a central and aggressive role in the execution of its assigned missions. For his purposes only a Ranger battalion would do. In achieving this goal he needed a little help. In the old Army they were known as rabbis, senior officers who ...

About this edition

• Publisher: Forge Books
• Publication date: 2008
• ISBN 10: 0765344610
• ISBN 13: 9780765344618
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• Number of pages: 544