BLURRED LINES IN THE SHIFTING SAND

By R. C. Stewart

When Doug Farley joined the Marine Corp. he had no idea that this would be the first step in a life journey that would lead him into enduring relationships as well as often violent international and domestic intrigue.

Having completed an unprecedented experience as a Marine Doug accepts a challenging offer from his former commander to join an organization as an operative in its plans to thwart drug trafficking. When his role is exposed he is drawn into a series of events, many violent, dealing with characters, some of whom intend to do both him and his developing personal relationships harm. Eventually, and believing the threats were eradicated, he and his family settle into a life that finds him in the political arena. However, even this new existence becomes disrupted and he is once again propelled into the past, this time facing increasing violence.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. C. Stewart
• Release date: Jun 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781501461972

Book preview

BLURRED LINES IN THE SHIFTING SAND 

Preface

Cattle ranching, as a career choice, would never be recommended for the faint of heart or for those who prefer to be sitting behind a desk all day. A knowledge of the animals, their specific needs, and the ability to deal with these needs is a good beginning, albeit just that. Successful operations require a great deal of business savvy blended into the mix, and there are plenty of times when solitude and soreness become your unwelcome partners. 

Branding calves is part of the cattle ranching experience, and is an age old rite born of necessity. Brands provide an easy to read owner identity where herds are likely to co-mingle. There’s little fun doing it, and day’s end is likely the first chance to relax. Four hands from Rosie’s ranch were headed home, cold beers in their possession. Their help made the task go faster and Terry would soon reciprocate when their branding day was set.

Doug and Terry slowly strolled to the ranch porch, each with a cold beer in hand. Both were dusty, dirty and sweat soaked from the day's work that started before sunrise. The task is never easy, and the smell of burnt flesh and hair stays with you longer than you’d like. They both felt used-up, and looked forward to their first opportunity to sit and relax.

So where are you going to be living once the deal goes down? Doug asked of his friend.

Don’t know for sure where. We’ve got the place up north but I’m not certain I’d want to live there year-round, came the response. Besides it’s probably time to put my education to work. I’m certain I’ll have nothing to do with cattle any longer, too many ups and downs at market, too much worry about feed costs, goofy grazing programs and I’m not feeling young anymore, particularly right at this moment. We’ve had this place listed for almost two years with only tire-kickers looking and this offer is pretty good money. Everyone’s known that we want out of here even though it breaks Liz’s heart, but she’s terrified to be left here alone or even to let the kids out to play.

Are the buyers buying everything? You’ve still got a pretty fair sized herd.

No interest at all. Their agent says they just want a nice country place. Maybe they'll turn it into a guest-ranch or bed and breakfast.

Something seems strange. With all the border crossings in your area something doesn’t make sense. I know this place is beautifully set, the house is terrific, but it’s a cattle ranch home, not some country estate. So you and Liz need to get a plan of action, and you need to get the herd to market or find buyers.

Yep, and quickly. They want to close the deal in a month. Lupita and Henry aren’t too happy about it, but their house and property stay in their names. Maybe Lupita will be their cook when the dust clears. Henry will keep the horses at his place so that’s one thing I don’t need to dispose of.

Doug emptied his beer, stood and walked toward his truck. I need a shower. See you soon. Give Liz a hug for me.

The drive home took him most of two hours. Dusty dirt roads transitioned to gravel, then pavement and finally the freeway. Each road change brought with it a spectacular panorama of vastly differing views unique to southern Arizona. Flat grasslands slowly morphed to rolling hills punctuated with scrub oaks, then on to higher mountainous elevations, and finally the desert full of saguaros, ocotillos and prickly pears, eventually to be followed by the structured view of the city.

When you’re not gazing at the scenery there is always time for thought. Doug couldn’t make sense of the sudden purchase of Terry’s ranch, particularly with the background of the present ranching economy, and the ever present border crossings with their potential violence. Why now, he thought?

In time he’d find the answer to his question .............

CHAPTER 1 – BASICS

'What is not started today is never finished tomorrow.' -Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 

Doug and Terry went back a long time. Before United States Marine Corps Special Operations Command (MARSOC) became official there was a ‘very’ Special Forces program in the Corp being created to parallel the Army/Navy program known as Force Recon or ‘FORCON’.

The two were among the recruits at Parris Island, both physically fit and eager, one from western Pennsylvania and the other from the rich farmlands of eastern Indiana. Basic training was tough for all recruits. Their bodies were pounded into a physically fit form and their minds came to understand the Marine way. During their training the Marines chose them as ‘FORCON’ participants. Through the ordeal the two of them developed a true friendship, one that lasted well beyond that autumn of 1982. This kinship would be recognized, along with their intuitive abilities by those organizing the very special programs into which they would be immersed. They served together, mustered out, went to college and fell into routine lives, even though routine was questionable at times.  Through it all they always stayed in touch.

They would embark on an assignment that neither could have imagined.

***

Beirut, Lebanon sounds exciting until you meet it. Reality kicked in as they left their plane. All of the passengers were drenched with a cold wind-blown rain that welcomed them and didn’t stop for days. The detachment of young Marines sent there in January, 1983 had as many expectations of their destination as imaginations would allow. Few, if any, were aware that Marines entered Lebanon nearly a quarter century earlier to quell a threatened civil war.

Deployment to foreign soil included a brief overview of where they were headed and their duty lists. Both were short:

Guard the U.S. Embassy!

Do not attempt to leave the grounds!

Operate under Rules of Engagement Number 4 - no magazines inserted;

no rounds chambered; minimum force as and if required.

The barracks compound was located near the Beirut Airport in west Beirut. Its rectangular, multi-storied design presented an austere outward appearance, particularly with the foggy wet conditions that prevailed. The roadway leading into it was barb wire fenced with several guard houses evident. Quarters were tight but seemingly adequate. Signs to conserve water were posted by the showers along with the ever present warning to be on guard.

You’re in a war zone and you are to be at the highest level of preparedness, were the first words from the suit. He stood in front of the room with maps on the wall behind him. Three others were seated at the table to his side. We’ve selected you four to be included in a very special joint activity. Consider it an honor to have been selected. This was on their second day! I’m Joe Crawford, here as part of the peace keeping mission we’re involved with in the Middle East, specifically the one here in Lebanon. Seated here are the other people who you’ll be dealing with in this assignment. Captain Thomas, my associate Steve Miller and Captain Aaron Meir of the Israeli Defense Force will be conducting the briefing from this point on. Thank you, and he sat down at the table.

Thomas rose, pointed to the map on the wall behind him and began, Men, we’re at this location which puts us near the airport as you’ve undoubtedly figured out for yourselves. This location is in the poorest part of Beirut and home to many Lebanese Muslims. We’re here, as Mr. Crawford has told you, to help with peace keeping efforts in the region. Lebanon has been at war for some time, both within and with others outside their borders. The various religions in the country are fighting, and we’re trying to help the factions reconcile their differences through negotiations, which is what Mr. Crawford and his people are involved with.

For the moment, Thomas continued, you four have been selected to assist Captain Meir in activities involving our peace keeping joint efforts with the Israeli forces, which Captain Meir represents. Israel has been actively involved in seeking a peaceful solution to the present Civil War which rages here. Aaron Meir is a Captain in the Israeli Army and while not in uniform today please respect his authority. You will be reporting to Lieutenant Gifford who you will meet soon. Now, Mr. Miller, please. Thomas stood, gathered some papers from the table and left the room.

I can’t stress the importance of our peace keeping efforts here in Lebanon, Miller started. Lebanon is a critical component of a program to bring peace to the Middle East. Within the country you’ll come to know there are many forms of both Christian and Islamic religions. Beirut is in shambles as a result of encounters between factions of these religious groups, and fighting is common on a daily basis throughout much of Lebanon even though a cease-fire agreement has existed since last year. We know that the PLO has support from Syria and they’ve been at war against the Israelis, who are part of the peace keeping program along with Christian groups. In Lebanon there are no identifiable uniformed combatants—they could be anyone, any sex, any age. You’ll learn your specific assignments shortly, and I certainly wish you success in your endeavors. Stay safe. He stood, exited the room along with Crawford, leaving the four Marines with Captain Aaron Meir.

Doug Farley and Terry Swanson had known each other since the first day of their Marine experience. They'd bonded immediately. The two other Marines were previously unknown to either of them, but like them sat poised in the horribly humid and bitter cold conditions of the room.

Aaron Meir examined the four. He glanced at papers in front of him. Ackerman, James, he called out without looking up. Yes sir, present. Meir looked in the direction of the Marine, and then turned his eyes to the papers. Moreno, Jose. Farley, Douglas.  Swanson, Terrance.  Meir gave each man a quick glance as they responded. Each acknowledged their name with the now familiar, Yes Sir, present.

I’m certain you have no idea why you are here, or what you are to do, came a terse, clipped statement from Meir, delivered with a gravy-thick English accent. I’m not certain I know all of the things you’re supposed to be doing assigned to our Army. That’s what generals are for, to tell us how and what to do. Your Lieutenant Gifford and I will be meeting later today and I’m certain we will all know more after that time. For now, and the immediate future I’m only Aaron. No salutes, no pomp. If there is ever a need to change these rules you will be notified. For now I’m giving each of you details of the area history prepared by your people. Read it, understand it. If there should be questions after you’ve finished you are probably not the right people for this assignment, and a great deal of wasted effort has occurred. He handed each of them a binder, and exited the room with the comment: Until later. His labored limp was immediately evident.

Now standing, Moreno said, I guess we’re discharged. No need to sit here in this awful room. I’m Jose or Joe if you’d like, as he extended his hand to Terry, then Doug. Jim and I were with the 6th Fleet off-shore until yesterday. When did you get here? There were handshakes around as they all officially met.

Doug answered, Terry and I are in our second day here, fresh from the states. Any clues as to what this is all about?

No idea at all, was Joe’s response. He shrugged his shoulders and opened the door to the room. Far more comfortable outside, as he took a deep breath. I guess we’ll see you guys later. Looks like we’ve got a bunch of reading to do.

Later came at 1830 that day. None of the four had a duty assignment other than the need to study the binder’s content. One section was marked:

‘Classified

Read, Understand and Destroy’

Two pages into the reading made it obvious it had been prepared by the suits, but bore no identification. The content started with a historic overview of the Middle East focused on Lebanon—its history dated back centuries. The Phoenicians were first, then the Turkish Ottoman Empire, French rule and its independence during World War II. The country developed a unique system of politics blended with multifarious religious flavorings to smooth out and provide a relatively progressive structure. This lasted until the Lebanese Civil War which erupted in 1975 fueled by outside factions, and has continued to the present.

Various religions existed with the country: Shia and Sunni Islam branches; Maronite, based upon Eastern European Catholic religion; Druze, a once secret Islamic group and Christianity; influences of many civilizations over the centuries. They all have fought against each other, and in some cases with each other, not unlike what the North American Indian tribes had done. The concluding page reiterated that they were U.S. Marines stationed in Lebanon as part of a peace keeping plan - avoid contact with the locals, and most of all avoid conflict, at all costs!

Stapled together was a two-page memo, typed, but with hand-written comments, that accompanied the text.

A-team: Deploy to Israel. Enter basic training for Israel Defense Forces (IDF) aka.       Tzahal for two months. Observe all aspects of their program. Record comments /       suggestions / etc. Do not share data. Await further orders.

B-team: Deploy to Israel. Integrate into Israeli ground forces equipment program.       Observe, and when possible utilize small arms, rockets and missiles.  Observe all       aspects of their program. Record comments / suggestions / etc.

Do not share data. Await further orders.

Next to A-Team were the hand-written names of Swanson and Farley. Ackerman and Moreno were the B-Team. A signature, hard to decipher, looking like Thomas, was on the orders.

Doug and Terry discussed the assignment before the meeting. Neither had a clue as to why they were selected to go through another basic training program, and hoped that it would be easier than the one they’d just endured. They were seated in another small, horridly humid room when Jim and Joe arrived. They, too, had no idea of why they were a part of this plan.

Lieutenant Mike Gifford opened the door, glanced at the four seated recruits and strolled to the table in front of them, placed some papers on it and appeared to be immersed in their contents. They’d stood and saluted, but a hand waved them to be seated.

Gifford was a solid looking 190 pounder, Doug thought, probably late-30s. He studied the face a little longer and thought he’d once seen him before they departed. He saw that Terry was studying the man as well. 

Men, Gifford started, you have been chosen from among many for a special task. The materials you were given pretty much say what’s needed to be said. Swanson, looking at Terry, and Farley, again directing his attention to Doug, are going to re-visit basic training, Israeli style. You’ll dress, train, eat and be considered an Israeli combatant-to-be. In the process you will record all procedures you will encounter for use later on. At the end of their Basic you will be evaluated by Israelis as to your worthiness to represent Israel. I will meet with you thereafter, where I will review your efforts."

Ackerman, again looking at him then pausing, Moreno, as he glanced in his direction, you have a different task as B-Team. We want you to familiarize yourselves with Israeli armament. As you’ve seen from the literature you have been given you are to immerse yourselves in everything that is being used, or possibly will be used, by their forces. Written records are to be kept and reviewed by me, only.

Now I ask you to be at ease, Gifford continued, and I’ll try to answer any questions you may have. Of course there may be some that I won’t try to answer. Oh, and by the way, you’ll be switched at the end of your first session. A-team will be B-Team and vice-versa. He smiled, looked up, and saw the faces of the four with wry smiles.

What role does Captain Meir have in this?  Jim asked. 

He’s our facilitator, Gifford replied. He’ll be your main contact during this duty, but you probably won’t see him often. Captain Meir fell out of his crib fighting, and hasn’t stopped. He learned English from his girlfriend who is missing half of her face. Glass shrapnel tore her cheek and ear and she nearly bled-out. You may have seen his limp. He had the back of his leg and knee nearly blown off when a mine blew the drive-shaft of a car he was in through it. The story goes that the front U-joint was imbedded in the back of the knee, and still is. He personally thinks the entire U.S. should be over here helping wipe out the PLO, Syrians, Iranians, or anyone opposed to Israel, and that peace keeping is a joke. If you’re around him long enough you’ll hear his rant. He’s a genius, however, but keeps a low profile.

Who are Crawford and Miller? Doug asked.

They’re assigned to, or working for a U.N. peace keeping program, was Gifford’s answer. I’m told Crawford is CIA but I’ve never met him. Miller I’ve met. He’s some kind of an anti-war guy. He's got that damn dove foot decal on his notebook. Just what we need here, for certain, a peacenik in a war zone. shaking his head. What you're doing is wrapped under this peace keeping program, but very loosely.

Why us? from Moreno, Why not guys with more experience?

Gifford laughed and said, Fresh eyes. We want to see what you see. Could you just imagine getting veteran Marines to go back through basic? If that’s all you’ll deploy at 0200. All travel here is at night, and pack light. Bring your boots and keep them with you. You'll find they're a better fit than the Israeli issue. Good luck. He packed his papers and departed. There were salutes all around.

Gear was packed and they loaded into a troop carrier heading south. Rain, wind and fog slowed the journey and what seemed like only a few hundred miles of travel took six hours. Bumpy roads full of pot holes, combined with a leaking roof on the vehicle made it seem much longer. Three stops at what must have been check points only added to a miserable journey.

Their location was a mystery as the vehicle stopped and a thickly accented voice from the back called out, Moreno, then, Ackerman. Both stood grabbing their possessions and made their way rearward. This must be the place, Jim said to no one in particular, Thank God we’re getting out. Looks like we’ll see you guys later. Good luck.

Moreno, who’d found a way to sleep for most of the trip, stood balancing against the bench, and said, Looks like our stop. Fun and games await us all. Terry and Doug stood, made their farewells, and took a look around the location.

Three words described the site: sandy, hilly and foggy. The rain had finally stopped and there was little wind, but it seemed warmer than they’d recently experienced. Triple rows of high barbed wire fencing led to a well-guarded gate where four sentries stood, each with rifles at the ready. Rows of tents were also visible. Austere and purposeful, Doug thought. Aaron stood watching the men dismount and beckoned each in his direction. His dress was civilian.

Gnashing gear sounds indicated the vehicle was departing as Doug and Terry clambered to be seated. An hour passed before their truck stopped. They stood, grabbed their meager possessions and heard their names called as the tarp opened from the outside. The shining sun was a welcome sight helping them to assess their location which looked to be designed by the same plan that they’d seen earlier. Barbed wire was everywhere. Guards, weapons at ready, were visible wherever they looked. Row upon row of tents were visible as far as they could see. Nothing broke the monotony of the sandy, treeless landscape.

They were directed to sit on a row of benches near the main gate. Undecipherable words were exchanged by their uniformed host and what appeared to be the guard in command, near the gate. Must be Hebrew, Terry thought.

Doug said, I guess we’re to be welcomed here, but this language thing looks like it’s an issue.

We’ll probably hear more of it, was Terry’s response, as they continued to survey their new surroundings.

Half an hour later Aaron drove up in a well-used Toyota. Walking toward them, his disability obvious, he welcomed Doug and Terry. You are at our basic training camp, and it will serve as your home for some time. English is never spoken here, so you’ll need to adjust. If it makes you wary, remember we train deaf people here at all times. May language be your only problem. This area is famous for snakes and scorpions, and carelessness will increase your chances of an encounter. As you can see it is a great area for training, and you’ve no doubt noticed it could be quickly broken down and relocated.

Aaron beckoned to a guard standing behind nearby. He spoke to him for several minutes then turned back to Doug and Terry. You will go through all the steps involved in our training. Sergeant Ori Biram will see to your introduction. Biram may use some English but he really knows very little. Biram smiled at the statement. I’m off to a meeting and you are off to do your duty. When you have completed your stay you will find we produce a very fine quality of soldier. From time to time we may encounter one another while you are here. I am always interested in your observations and opinions and I trust we will have some time to sit and talk. For now I bid you Shalom. With that he ambled back to the Toyota.

Eight weeks passed slowly. It was hot most of the time and conditions at the camp were at best basic. Their tent showed its age with patches and missing stitches. Each day they’d check it for scorpions and found several, which were quickly dispatched. They’d been issued uniforms and clothing none of which was comfortable or seemed to fit well. Having their boots was a blessing.  Water was rationed and they came to understand that showering had to be done with less than 3 liters per recruit, and only twice per week. Laundering was once a week and they’d both missed the first week’s laundry because of a misunderstanding, just one of the several assimilations to a language they didn’t understand. Occasionally their fellow recruits would attempt to speak to them in English during mess. Little was said, but all conversations became a relief after a hard day, and both Doug and Terry welcomed the moments. It seemed they were a curiosity in the camp. Why two young, physically fit Americans were joining the Israeli Army was the camp buzz they would later learn. But they played the game; they were here to help Israel!

As ordered Doug and Terry kept notebooks in a diary form, day to day. Every experience was logged. Israeli basic training and Marine basic were quite similar in most respects from both the physical and mental conditioning point of view. Calisthenics were similar, as were most skill-drills. Desert sand blew everywhere and rarely took a break, complicating nearly everything. They breezed through the drills and seemed perfectly matched to the challenge once they’d become familiar with the routines and commands. Only their first day had been tough -—too soft from sitting too long in that miserable truck.

There were 52 other recruits enduring the tough eight weeks. Scattered among the cluster were several girls, two black men, and very young looking men -—boys to be more exact. Three of them had physical disabilities that were evident: one had a deformed arm; one was missing three fingers, and another whose body twitched violently at times. One of the girls was big and tough looking. She would move to help others in a number of the drill routines and was admonished each time she did by the instructor. Another girl, with glorious red hair and a face full of freckles, was extremely good looking but never looked up unless she was required to do so. She was always in the mess tent sitting with what may have been the ugliest girl they’d ever seen. Some contrast.

Sergeant Biram checked in with them daily, often two or more times. You OK? was his normal greeting delivered with his perpetually smiling face. Both Doug and Terry would indicate that things were fine and Biram seemed satisfied with their response, making notes in a book he kept. His English didn’t go very far and not much more was ever said.

Aaron checked in one day about half-way through their assignment. He waited for them to finish their drill, informed the instructor he had come to see them, and they were excused.

I hear you do quite well, Aaron started. Not everyone does. Soon you’ll be shooting big guns and maybe jumping from airplanes, and we’ll see if you’re good enough to be one of us. He snickered and waited for any reaction. There was none. They’d walked to an area nearby and sat on the sand, an easy effort for everyone but Aaron. "What can you tell me