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Floridaboiler
POTFH
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Joined: 18 May 2002
Posts: 11322
Location: Jacksonville, Florida
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 Posted: 04/07/03 - 20:41 Post subject: Our Elite Athletes
Another Cool one.
It is dark and Mike Smith's clothing is wet.
Mike Smith is an athlete, an elite athlete in fact. He is a triathlete,
has done Ironman several times, a couple adventure races and even run
the Marathon Des Sables in Morocco- a 152 mile running race through the
Sahara
done in stages.
Mike has some college, is gifted in foreign languages, reads a lot and
has an amazing memory for details. He enjoys travel. He is a quiet guy
but a very good athlete. Mike's friends say he has a natural
toughness. He can't spend as much time training for triathlons as he'd
like to because his job keeps him busy. Especially now. This is Mike's
busy season. But he still seems very fit. Even without much training
Mike has managed some impressive performances in endurance events.
It's a big night for Mike. He's at work tonight. As I mentioned his
clothing is wet, partially from dew, partially from perspiration. He and
his four coworkers, Dan, Larry, Pete and Maurice are working on a
rooftop at the corner of Jamia St. and Khulafa St. across from Omar Bin
Yasir.
Mike is looking through the viewfinder of a British made Pilkington LF25
laser designator. The crosshairs are centered on a ventilation shaft.
The shaft is on the roof of The Republican Guard Palace in downtown
Baghdad across the Tigris River. Saddam Hussein is inside, seven floors
below, three floors below ground level, attending a crisis meeting.
Mike's coworker Pete (also an Ironman finisher, Lake Placid, 2000) keys
some information into a small laptop computer and hits "burst transmit."
The DMDG (Digital Message Device Group) uplinks data to another of
Mike's coworkers (this time a man he's never met, but they both work for
their Uncle, "Sam") and a fellow athlete, at 21'500 feet above Iraq 15
miles from downtown Baghdad. This man's office is the cockpit of an
F-117 stealth fighter. When Mike and Pete's signal is received the man
in the airplane leaves his orbit outside Baghdad, turns left, and heads
downtown.
Mike has 40 seconds to complete his work for tonight, and then he can go
for a run.
Mike squeezes the trigger of his LF25 and a dot appears on the
ventilator shaft five city blocks and across the river away from him and
his coworkers. Mike speaks softly into his microphone; "Target
illuminated. Danger close. Danger Close. Danger close. Over."
Seconds later two GBU-24B two thousand pound laser guided, hardened
case, delayed fuse "bunker buster" bombs fall free from the F-117. The
bombs enter "the funnel" and begin finding their way to the tiny dot
projected by Mike's LF25. They glide approximately three miles across
the ground and fall four miles on the way to the spot marked by Mike and
his friends.
When they reach the ventilator shaft marked by Mike and his friends the
two bunker busters enter the roof in a puff of dust and debris. They
plow through the first four floors of the building like a two-ton steel
telephone pole traveling over 400 m.p.h., tossing desks, ceiling tiles,
computers and chairs out the shattering windows. Then they hit the
six-foot thick reinforced concrete roof of the bunker. They burrow four
more feet
and detonate.
The shock wave is transparent but reverberates through the ground to the
river where a Doppler wave appears on the surface of the Tigris. When
the
seismic shock reaches the building Mike is on he levitates an inch off
the roof from the concussion. Then the sound hits. The two explosions
are like a simultaneous crack of thunder as the building's walls seem to
swell momentarily, then burst apart on an expanding fireball that
slowly, eerily, boils above Baghdad Casting rotating shadows as the fire
climbs into the night. Debris begins to rain; structural steel, chunks
of concrete, shards of glass, flaming fabrics and papers.
On the tail of the two laser guided bombs a procession of BGM-109G/TLAM
Block IV Enhanced Tomahawks begin their terminal plunge. The
laser-guided
bombs performed the incision, the GPS and computer guided TLAM Tomahawks
complete the operation. In rapid-fire succession the missiles find their
mark and riddle the Palace with massive explosions, finishing the job.
The earth heaves in a final death convulsion.
Mike's job is done for tonight. Now all he has to do is get home.
Mike and his friends drive an old Mercedes through the streets of
Baghdad as the sirens start. They take Jamia to Al Kut, cross Al Kut and
go right (South) on the Expressway out of town. An unsuspecting remote
CNN camera
mounted on the balcony of the Al Rashid Hotel picks up their Vehicle
headed out of town. Viewers at home wonder what a car is doing on the
street during
the beginning of a war. They don't know it is packed with five members
of the U.S. Army's SFOD-D, Special Forces Operational Detachment -
Delta.
Six miles out of town they park their Mercedes on the shoulder, pull
their gear out of the trunk and begin to run into the desert night. The
moon is nearly full. Instinctively they fan out, on line, in a "lazy 'W'
." They run five miles at a brisk pace, good training for this evening,
especially with 27 lb. packs on their back. Behind them there is fire on
the horizon.
Mike and his fellow athletes have a meeting to catch, and they can't be
late.
Twenty-seven miles out a huge gray 92 foot long insect hurtles 40 feet
above the desert at 140 mph The MH-53J Pave Low III is piloted by
another athlete, also a triathlete, named Jim, from Fort Campbell,
Kentucky. He is flying to meet Mike.
After running five miles into the desert Mike uses his GPS to confirm
his position. He is in the right place at the right time. He removes an
infrared strobe light from his pack and pushes the red button on the
bottom of it. It blinks invisibly in the dark. He and his friends form a
Wide 360 degree circle while waiting for their ride home.
Two miles out Jim in the Pave Low sees Mike's strobe through his night
vision goggles. He gently moves the control stick and pulls back on the
collective to line up on Mike's infrared strobe. Mike's ride home is
here.
The big Pave Low helicopter flares for landing over the desert and
quickly touches down in a swirling tempest of dust. Mike and his friends
run up the ramp after their identity is confirmed. Mike counts them up
the ramp of the helicopter over the scream of the engines. When he shows
the crew chief five fingers the helicopter lifts off and the ramp comes
up. The dark Gray Pave Low spins in its own length and picks up speed
going back the way it came, changing course slightly to avoid detection.
The men and women in our armed forces, especially Special Operations,
are
often well trained, gifted athletes. All of them, including Mike, would
rather be sleeping the night away in anticipation of a long training
ride rather than laying on a damp roof in an unfriendly neighborhood
guiding bombs to their mark or doing other things we'll never hear
about.
Regardless of your opinions about the war, the sacrifices these people
are
making and the risks they are taking are extraordinary. They believe
they are making them on our behalf. Their skills, daring and
accomplishments almost always go unspoken.
They are truly Elite Athletes.
God bless our troops and God bless America.
Have a great day!
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