Tiger Island: The President's Final Decision

By D. M. Compton

About thirty years ago a real life classified Military Operation was carried out on Isla Del Tigre - Tiger Island, Honduras. The Task Force was composed of elements of the U.S. Marine Corps, Army Special Forces, and a unit of the Navy SEALs. The CIA was also there.TIGER ISLAND, a novel based on that mission and the exploits that took place, was written by former Marine Corps Captain D.M. Compton who was there.The story recounts the actual undertakings of that operation. Many tense moments along with political drama involving the newly elected President and his Advisors in Washington occur throughout.It is confirmed by all intelligence sources that Nicaragua's Terrorists have a medium range ballistic missile with a possible nuclear warhead. The new President never thought he would have to face what John F. Kennedy did during the Cuban Missile Crisis. His decision surprises everyone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257345359

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Tiger Island

The President’s Final Decision

D. M. Compton

This book is dedicated to my children; Tori, Teri, Taylor, Trenton, Trista, Maggie and to my life partner Susan.

9781257345359

All of the characters appearing in this work are fictitious.

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Preface

Prologue

Chapter 1 – The Bad Start

Chapter 2 – The Drill

Chapter 3 – The Canal

Chapter 4 – The Landing

Chapter 5 – The SEALs

Chapter 6 – The Migs

Chapter 7 – The Cantina

Chapter 8 – The Humorist Warriors

Chapter 9 – The Sapper Attack

Chapter 10 – The Air Attack

Chapter 11 – The SNIFFERS

Chapter 12 – Operation Ringer Bravo

Chapter 13 – The President’s Plan

Chapter 14 – The Race

Chapter 15 – Operation Recoil

Chapter 16 – The Russian President

Chapter 17 – Nina

Preface

Tiger Island is a novel based on a true story: About thirty years ago a real-life top secret military operation took place on Isla Del Tigre – Tiger Island, Honduras. The highly classified mission was conducted by elements of the U.S. Marine Corps, Navy SEALs, the CIA, and Army Special Forces who were positioned on the Honduran mainland.

Rebel Extremists in Nicaragua and El Salvador were threatening the stability of the region. White House briefings advised the recently elected President that if these two radical countries could link their idealistic cause with Honduras the aggression might spread throughout Central America. An insurgent take-over there could conceivably extend even further northward and a Terrorist land bridge to the United States may well evolve. The decisive new President opted to intervene with force but, due to the sensitivity of the combat operation, Congress would be advised that it was just a routine Exercise with our Honduran Ally.

The mission’s objective was to prevent the Rebels from gaining a foothold and going any further with their plan which, at the outset, was the takeover of Honduras.

When a nuclear weapon was discovered in Nicaragua, Washington realized that the Guerilla plans were bigger than anyone had thought. The President was forced to consider difficult proposals from the Joint Chiefs and others. His own plan and final decision surprised everyone.

Former Marine Captain, and author, D. M. Compton was there. He recounts the action and suspense that took place: What actually happened, and what could have happened, in this modern day scenario of terror.

Prologue

Admiral Charles Welser had invited Senator Andrew Herchek, along with Congressman Wayne Kelsey and others, to a late afternoon clambake on the South Carolina beach. Political gatherings such as this one were usually formal affairs but since it was a clambake, and the southern sun was very hot, they were all dressed in casual attire. If Bear would have caught sight of uniforms or even a sport coat from his high vantage point he wouldn’t have continued with what he was about to do.

Serious business was conducted at these events and they usually gathered a sizeable crowd of government officials, aids, and supporters.

Admiral Welser and Senator Herchek were conversing about the additional transport ships that Welser felt he needed while they sipped their mint juleps. Herchek was Chairman of the Defense Appropriations Committee and the two were also good friends.

Marine Corps Air Station Beaufort was less than eight miles from the party and Bear was returning to base from a training mission; RTB as it’s called in the aviation community. He had some extra fuel and decided to have a little unauthorized fun before landing.

Congressman Kelsey started walking over to join the Admiral and Senator when he noticed a low flying aircraft quickly coming up the beach toward them. Just as he pointed it out Admiral Welser turned and heard the high pitch whine rapidly increase in volume to a thunderous roar fifty feet over their heads. Welser, Herchek, Kelsey and most of the crowd dove to the ground as the F/A-18 Super Hornet screamed by in full afterburner rocking its wings.

Charlie, that’s not funny, Herchek said picking himself up from the sand and thinking it was all prearranged.

Admiral Welser just looked up at the departing jet and said, You’re absolutely right Andy and I’m gonna have somebody’s ass for this.

Marine Lieutenant Daniel McAlister loved flying the F-18 but had been reprimanded before for unsafe stunts with the jet. At his last Conduct Review Board it was made clear that he was on probation but the cocky Marine ignored the warning. This hotshot Lieutenant was the best pilot in the squadron and that always got him by, except maybe, until now. He had a sick feeling that this menacing feat of airmanship could quite possibly have been his last.

The inquest into the event was scheduled for a late afternoon session so he decided that he might as well get drunk before the appearance. The hearing, predictably, did not go well. After the board concluded that he was no longer going to fly they asked if the wing stripped Aviator had anything else to say. Being the proud Marine Officer that he was McAlister simply dropped his trousers, turned around, and mooned the panel.

The Wing Commander who headed the Review Board said, Well Lieutenant, I’ll say this for you; you’ve got a lot of hair on your ass….like a Bear. Unfortunately for you it doesn’t impress us. You are done flying and you are dismissed.

His fellow aviators, also in attendance at the hearing, were proud of his defiance and from that point on called him Bear Buns or Bear for short. The name carried over to the ground unit that he was now a part of.

Bear’s first real mission as a Ground Officer would ultimately become the most consummate operation ever conducted in the history of America’s war against Terrorism.

Chapter 1 – The Bad Start

Bear stood on the dock in awe of the big grey lady. He managed to be in the Corps for five years now without ever sailing on a ship. USMC Hornet Pilots had to carrier qualify on aircraft carriers but he never got out of the plane. All that the Marine Aviators had to do was land, taxi over to the catapult, and take off again to qualify. They’d then be ready, if the need ever arose, to conduct combat operations from one but it never did for Bear. He was in between wars during his short flying career. From the air, and from his aircraft while on deck, the ships really didn’t look all that big. In fact, from two thousand feet up on the flyovers, they looked like a very small speck to have to land a jet on. He had never been up close like this before gazing skyward from the waterline of such a humongous vessel. It was amazing to him how this monstrosity of iron and steel could actually float.

Behind Bear stood another two hundred Marines in full combat gear waiting to board the amphibious Landing Ship Dock (LSD) the USS Pensacola. It was recommissioned a year previous due to the resurrected need for more transport ships within the Navy.

Six weeks earlier a warning order was handed down to the Marine Radar Unit, to which Bear was assigned, from Headquarters Marine Corps. It was classified Top Secret and stated that the Air Control Squadron would deploy to Tiger Island Honduras under the guise of Exercise Big Pine III. There, they would conduct radar surveillance operations in the regions of Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Honduras.

The Marines were nervously excited. For most it was their first time on a ship and for others the salt was still in their pores from many prior cruises.

The word was passed; We’re going aboard!

Bear stared at the ominous flight of steps dangling alongside the ship that would have to be reckoned with to reach the upper deck. As Officer in Charge of the Marine Detachment he would be the first to board.

How ridiculous to try and climb a sixty foot ladder with a hundred pounds of gear on my back and in my hands, he muttered to himself.

This proud Marine Officer had just made Captain and was keenly aware of how that rank would lose its shine if he dropped any gear or, God forbid, fell into the water while trying to scale the two and a half foot wide aluminum obstacle. Beads of sweat started to protrude from his forehead. He looked up to see fifty sailors on the top deck giggling at the agony on his perspired face.

I should have worked out more, the already exhausted former aviator confessed inching his way up the rickety swaying steps. Bear’s slender body strained passing the three quarter mark.

Now, how does it go? Salute the National Ensign flag at the stern first? Or is it the Ensign Sailor at the top first? It must be the National Ensign first, he concluded.

Bear finally stepped onto the deck and threw down his gear. He came to attention and saluted the rear of the ship followed by a salute to the Ensign Officer. The Ensign, a chubby man of short stature with a blonde mustache, half smiled in his white uniform and said, Welcome aboard Sir!

The now swollen with pride Marine Captain gloated. Not only had he made it up the impossible staircase without dropping anything, or falling overboard, but he executed the saluting sequence flawlessly. He strutted over to the next Officer and promptly saluted. The Navy Lieutenant looked at him with surprise and said, First time aboard?

Bear cautiously replied, Yes.

The Lieutenant smiled, The only ones you have to salute are the National Ensign and the Officer of the Deck.

Bear’s red face snapped to the right looking to see if any of the Marines down below had spotted his blunder but they were busy flailing as he had just done. Some had already dropped things into the water.

It was only four hours before all the men, cargo, and tons of radar and communications equipment were loaded. They were finally underway.

Several weeks prior Bear had met the Infantry Platoon Commander William Buck Gillespie. The infantry platoon was assigned to Bear’s unit to provide additional security for the potential combat arena they were headed to. Buck was of stocky build and had an excitable personality. His friends called him Buck because he acted like a Buck in rut every time he was around attractive women. He claimed to have slept with over one hundred.

After Buck boarded and stowed his gear he walked over to Bear and said, Look at those sons of bitches whip up that water!

Bear glimpsed over the side to see two tug boats straining to push the huge LSD out into the channel. The tugs, while churning up the water with their powerful engines, caused a damp fishy smell to curl its way into Bear’s wide open nostrils. It wasn’t a foul odor but one of exhilaration as he thought of soon sailing the open seas.

He turned to Buck and said, Ain’t this great!

Buck retorted, Yeah, it’s not just a job, it’s an adventure! They both laughed.

While the ship was now headed out into the ocean a sailor approached Bear and Buck; Follow me sirs. I’ll show you to your staterooms.

They were then escorted to their quarters. Bear liked the sound of the word ‘stateroom’. He imagined how elegant it must be.

After traversing a labyrinth of passageways and down several levels the sailor stopped, opened a narrow metal door and said to Bear, Here you are sir.

Bear looked at the accommodations with wide eyes. The sailor just smiled and departed with Buck. Before him was a four man room measuring eight feet by twelve feet. It had two bunk beds, racks as they’re called in the Navy, on each side of the room.

No wonder we call these racks, he said to himself noticing that the lower two inch thick mattress was only about eighteen inches below the upper one.

To the rear of the room were two grey metal closets separated by three dresser type drawers and two more cabinets with fold down doors to create desktops. To the left of all this was a stained porcelain sink that had a mirrored medicine cabinet above it. Although it was small it seemed to Bear that it was well laid out and would be reasonably comfortable.

After all, this is a combat transport ship not the Love Boat, he reasoned.

Just then Buck burst into the room, Whadaya think of your quarters?

Well it’s alright. Kinda small if there were four guys in here to fill these four racks, Bear admitted.

You think this is small! Buck scowled. Come with me. I want to show you something.

Bear followed as Buck led him along the myriad of passageways, down ladders, and through hatches. They finally came to the troop compartment and Bear gazed in horror at where the enlisted men had to sleep. Before him stood one of twenty compartments sized twelve by fifteen feet. There were a total of thirty racks in each compartment stacked four high with fifteen inches between each one. All Bear could think of were sardines in a can.

Buck saw that Bear was speechless and said, Ready to go?

Bear’s light green eyes seemed to beg forgiveness as he nodded his head. Buck whirled around and Bear followed as they made their way back to the upper decks. After a short conversation Buck said he wanted to catch a power nap and they both went on to their own individual quarters.

Bear meticulously stowed his gear and stretched out on an upper rack in his stateroom. The Captain’s voice soon came across the overly loud intercom with a welcome aboard speech to all the Marines. Bear imagined how many sea going experiences the ship’s Captain could tell. …and make sure you take your motion sickness pills right now. I don’t want anybody throwing up on my ship, the crusty Sea Captain demanded.

I don’t need those things, Bear thought to himself recalling the many flight hours and high speed gut wrenching jet combat maneuvers he had previously undergone when he was a pilot. Never got sick in the air, why should I get sick on a boat?

Several hours later the gentle rocking motion of the ship that rolled one from side to side in the rack caused him to doze off. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Bear jumped up at the surprise of being awakened minutes after he’d finally gotten to sleep. He jerked open the door and saw a young crewman standing sheepishly in front of him.

Do you know what time it is sailor? Bear angrily questioned looking down at his watch that was now showing 11:45pm. I’ve been up since 4am so this better be good!

Sorry to disturb you sir. I know it’s almost midnight but the ship’s First Lieutenant would like to see you, the nervous sailor reported.

Alright, alright, thank you, Bear grumbled.

He staggered back to the rack to find his boots and recalled from his training that the Ship’s First Lieutenant was in charge of the embarkation of men and equipment aboard the ship. The man wasn’t a Lieutenant at all but usually a Lieutenant Commander of considerable experience. The now apprehensive Marine Captain thought he’d better look sharp before reporting to this higher ranking officer.

I wonder what he wants, Bear pondered trying to keep his balance while staggering through the passageways.

The ship was slowly tossing him from one wall to the other as he inched his way along. He felt a strange queasiness about his body when he came to the rather small door marked Ship’s First Lieutenant.

Bear hammered the hatch with three sharp knocks which was tradition in Navy and Marine Corps procedures.

The door opened and a sleepy eyed, rather disheveled looking man, who was obviously over weight and out of shape, stared at him waiting for some sort of a greeting. Bear noticed that on the collar of this surly man’s unbuttoned khaki shirt were oak leaf clusters identifying him as a Navy Lieutenant Commander. On the etched plate clipped to his shirt was the name Haverly.

Good evening sir, I’m Captain…. but before he could finish the sentence Bear vomited at Lt. Commander Haverly’s stocking feet. The surprisingly composed Ship’s First Lieutenant slowly turned his expressionless gaze from Bear to his feet and then back to Bear. He then calmly said, Didn’t take your pills did you?

No sir. I’m terribly sorry sir. Bear gasped. His face burned from embarrassment. I’ll clean this up right away sir.

Never mind! the Commander bellowed. I’ll have a duty crewman do it. We’ve got work to do.

Yes sir! Bear responded.

The ship’s First Lieutenant moved to a dimly lit table in the darkened room and stared at some papers. Look, I’ve got to get a message out to Fleet Headquarters on all the gear we’ve loaded on this ship. I want you to inventory and verify everything that’s down there. We have to know exactly what we’ve got.

Bear stared at him in disbelief. You mean now sir?

Yes now! The Lt. Commander said in a resounding tone. He lowered his head for a moment, then raised it and said, Look, I know it’s late and you’ve had long day but we have to get this message out by O five hundred. He then paused and with a coy smile said, Besides, you owe me one for puking on me.

Yes Sir! yelped a still embarrassed Bear who then turned around and walked out the door.

The nauseous Marine Captain dragged himself back through the maze to his stateroom. Once there, he frantically grappled for his motion sickness pills and felt an instant psychological relief taking them even though it really was too late. Bear just stood there for a moment contemplating, How am I supposed to inventory all that lousy gear when I don’t even know what half of it is?

He suddenly remembered Corporal Furelli; a dark haired feisty man, about five feet four inches tall and of Italian descent, who was the Embarkation NCO or Non-Commissioned Officer. NCO’s were senior enlisted men who were supervisors over lower ranking enlisted men. Furelli was in charge of making sure that every item designated for the trip was loaded aboard by those under him. He’s got to have a list of all that stuff, Bear thought.

He made his way down to the sardine can of troops and, after waking several disgruntled Marines from a sound sleep, located Furelli. Corporal Furelli, wake up, we’ve got to inventory the gear.

The young Corporal sat up and peered at Bear with glassy red eyes, and in a heavy Italian accent said, You gotta be kiddin sir. I already checked it all!

I wish I were kiddin bud, Bear said looking down with a half smile. It has to be verified. Come on, with both of us doing it it won’t take that long.

Corporal Furelli snapped his head upward and momentarily stopped fumbling with his clothes. He then paused and said, Sir, it’s gonna take more than just us if you need it done anytime soon. There’s five thousand tons of gear down there!

Well maybe we can get some sailors to help us. They should be used to this.

Sir, the Navy guys ain’t gonna do shit to help us."

What do you mean? Bear queried.

Sir, you may not know this but the crew was out to sea for six months before coming back to port for a long shore leave. They were only in a week when the word came down that it would be cut short for this mission. They are not only pissed but their morale is about zero right now having to leave their families after one stinkin week with them.

Bear looked down and thought for a moment. Then he said, OK, we’ll just have to do it ourselves and double time it. I’m not gonna wake any of our Marines to help unless we absolutely have to. It’ll take a little longer that’s all.

Corporal Furelli disparagingly rolled his eyes upward and continued to get dressed.

Soon they were climbing over equipment on the loading docks finding serial numbers and checking off documents as fast as they could. Every ten minutes or so Bear would stop to vomit and then continue to inventory. Corporal Furelli would just shake his head during each of Bear’s sea sickness bouts while they went along.

Suddenly, Bear thought he heard singing. He looked up from his clipboard and listened. The LSD was gigantic; 610 feet long, 85 feet wide, and about 5 stories deep. Toward the top of the massive grease and oil stained cargo bay in the dim light he saw a sailor staggering along the top catwalk. The man was singing the Navy hymn:

Eternal Father, Strong to save,

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,

Who bid'st the mighty Ocean deep

Its own appointed limits keep;

O hear us when we cry to thee,

for those in peril on the sea.

In the sailor’s hand hanging limp by his side was a half empty bottle of liquor. Bear looked over at Corporal Furelli who had also just observed the obviously drunken sailor.

Oh my God! Furelli said in a frightened voice.

They both knew that any alcohol aboard the ship was taboo. The operations were too dangerous and this incident, Bear imagined, may well prove it.

Sailor! Bear yelled. Get down from there now!

The startled Navy Seaman looked over the railing, peering down at Bear and Furelli in surprise, and stood up straight. He then raised the bottle to his forehead as if saluting, and while still assuming the