The Silver Affair: A Novel Based on True Events

By Bob Sugar

When part of a five-man unit of special operatives learns that Master Sergeant Avery Franks is being held in a mountain compound in France, the team sets operations in motion to get Franks out.

The bandits, holding Avery, are under some illusion that the United States Military would be willing to make a swape. One American for six of theirs.

That was not how Colonel Reade’s team operated. Even if a raid to free Franks were not sanctioned, Darren---the team’s captain---the Colonel, Reis Sabette, and Dave Wolf would have tried a rescue mission no matter what the consequences.

The Colonel’s team was a splinter group before the forming of the Green Berets and operated outside of usual protocol, engaging in covert operations that others could not undertake.

In this operation, the team annihilates the enemy and finds Franks along with a French citizen who talks of seeing silver ingots placed inside of an underground vault. The team is intrigued, but with the threat of a further enemy encounter looming, they don’t have the time to investigate.

Later, a nagging curiosity brings the now-retired team back together to launch one final--- and possible lucrative---mission. But the operation has already been compromised, and nobody knows how or why.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781532067952

Bob Sugar

The author, Bob Sugar, was a native of Queens, Long Island. Moved to California and remained until the beginning of World War II. He joined the Merchant Marine after graduating high school and stayed in the service till after the war. Bob returned to college, but during his second year, he was called back into the Army for the Korean War. He was assigned as an instructor for anti-aircraft gunnery school and attended a program for chemical, biological, and radiological warfare at Fort Sam Houston, Texas. Later he was assigned to furtive operations, unbeknown to his peers, he served as an assassin on missions outside of the United States. He is married and has five children.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Darren’s POV

F or some reason I was more aware of the vibration in the plane this time out. Usually, the guys on a mission would talk and joke a bit, to lighten the seriousness before we bailed, but it was never an intense conversation. We had been briefed several times and discussed how we were going to ascend the mountain. When the team was satisfied with ‘plan A,’ we discussed ‘plan B.’ There was always a backup strategy, and there had to be a planned exit for every op. The four of us seemed a bit quiet most of the way. Looking back on that flight, I believe it was the gravity of the mission that curtailed the jokes and consversation we would typically have.

We were going to drop into a territory overrun by bandits. We had no idea who operated the group or controlled the operation, even though several of the enemy had been captured. Up to now, we had not been able to uncover much about their organization, other than they were not part of a government operation but were able to hold their positions in the mountains and avoid conflict with the local regime. To me, that sounded like the marauding outlaws were in bed with the local authorities.

We were flying at an altitude of about one-thousand feet between canyons, and well under the radar. With the shaking of the by-wing, I felt like I was sitting on a bench attached to a mechanical vibrator. The light aircraft has an upper and lower wing. The use of a small plane is that it does not attract much attention and certainly not as conspicuous as a military aircraft.

Lieutenant Colonel Jack Reade was carrying on a conversation with one of the men of the team, Rais Sabette. Though I was not more than four feet to the side, I was unable to hear any of the conversation because of what appeared to be the excessive drone of the small single-engine. The sun was low in the sky, and we would be jumping over our target area at dusk.

The intercom came alive. Three minutes to jump time and then confirmed and passed from one to the other. I stood and poked at Wolff. We rechecked our gear, rose and hooked to the static line as the hatch was opened. I was number two to jump. I was falling behind the Colonel, while Wolff and Sabette were three and four to bail. As my harness tightened, I saw the guys just off to my right and a bit higher. Our silks were open. The foliage and ground came up to meet us. It was still light enough to make out our landing target. We hit the dirt roughly less than twenty seconds after we bailed. The game had started.

Every time I set up to bail out of a plane, I can’t help but remember the first time in training when the instructor felt the class was ready for our first practice leap. I was twenty years old. It was a mock jump without a parachute. I was on a wooden tower about 15 feet up. I had to drop to the ground, land on the balls of my feet, spring with my knees and roll forward in a summersault and then stand. Fifteen feet is a little higher than an average one-story building. That experience was the worst. I have never landed that hard in the hundred or more jumps I have done since then.

This was a four-man, all-volunteer, low-altitude jump. The plane would go to about 1,000 feet, then level off on approach and drop to 900 feet above terra firma before we hit the silk. We were jumping into a not-too-friendly area to rescue one of our own, Master Sergeant Avery Franks. He was captured while stopped at a check zone, and before he was able to drive away, he and his driver were ambushed. The only information coming out of the territory was related by the driver, a corporal assigned to the motor pool. The corporal put up some resistance when first encountered and was shot and wounded at the check zone and left for dead. The corporal survived his wounds and was able to relate what happened. The Colonel was informed and operational plans set.

It was a month later when we learned that Master Sergeant Avery Franks was now being held in a mountain compound waiting to be exchanged for six of their assholes who were imprisoned in our stockade. The bandits were under some illusion we would be willing to make a swap. One of ours for six of theirs.

This group of bandits was a hit-and-run type of enemy. They occupied a small section in a mountainous stronghold probably protected by the local regime that exercised sovereign authority in that particular region. No one was quite sure, but it was assumed the enemy group were dealers in contraband, opiates, marijuana, and guns.

We were usually a five-man operation that worked well together. It wasn’t just standard teamwork, but the subconscious motivated behavior and knowledge to back up and move before one of your team signaled what he was going to do next. You knew instinctively almost what he was thinking, and you acted accordingly. When I heard that Avery Franks had been captured, it was like losing part of myself. If the operation had not been sanctioned to go in and get Avery out of whatever mess he was in, Colonel Jack Reade, Rais Sabette, Dave Wolff and me would have done it on our own, regardless of the consequences.

My name is Darren. Our team was assigned to a group that later became known as the Green Berets. We lived and trained with several platoons, even though we were a function of our own and operated outside of usual protocol. We were called out for covert and furtive operations that other services were not allowed to undertake, usually because of the sensitivity of the mission or due to diplomatic etiquette. Man–-, was always the prey.

I hold the rank of Captain, with over seventeen years of service. I was part of a specialty team used for covert, assassination, and extraction operations. My team and I were especially good at what we did when trying to locate one of the bad guys and sending him to hell. I was assigned to Lieutenant Colonel Reade’s group for unique surgeries. Whatever our sleights, or skills, or abilities, we collectively operated as one with the strength of twenty. This was going to be one of those inimitable missions. As sure as I was sitting in this airplane, Avery Franks knew we would be coming.

This was the first time I can remember thinking about the men in our team like we were a family. In the past, I looked at everything as standard operations. We could depend on one another without question. This was the first time I actually thought about and was glad of the closeness and dependence on each other. In a sense we were brothers.

There was the Colonel. I liked Colonel Reade and was with him on more missions than I could possibly remember. Colonel Reade earned a field commission and over the years rose quickly to the position of Lieutenant Colonel. I wondered why he still personally led our strikes and put his very life in jeopardy. I thought about it and answered my own question: I could not see him sitting behind a desk.

The Colonel was a large man in stature and in rank. Built like a linebacker but agile as a cougar. Headquarters knew if you wanted something taken care of that required a little finesse, Reade’s team was all you would need. Six-foot-one, muscles of a man who pumped iron, and for his height and 200 pounds of sheer muscle, you would think twice before considering an encounter with him.

On assignments that I was part of, and Colonel Reade was in charge, all of the pros and cons of the mission were particularized and made available and laid out in a sequence of ‘A through Z.’ Every bit of information was detailed and discussed several times. The Colonel laid out a path of action and asked for any input. If there was anything to add, we’d again discuss the operation, and that was that. The rest of the game was played, minute by minute. We always had an exiting design, and that was called ‘plan B.’

On this particular op, the recon, and intelligence garnered by some of the local inhabitants supplied enough information for us to determine the best approach and where we would most likely be able to travel with the least possibility of discovery on the trip to the compound that was holding Avery. An observation plane did a fly-by and supplied some aerial views and additional info. The topography, along with some points of terrain recognition and routes of ascent, were added to the project.

I turned to look at Dave Wolff. He and I were good friends on and off assignments. There were the bars and women, fast cars and races, and we learned to operate and fly small aircraft and were both licensed to operate military helicopters. With that not being enough to elevate our spirits for excitement, then, just for the sport of it, we jumped out of planes, skydived, and participated in free-falling clubs on our off time. Neither one of us had ever grown up. We were like two fun-loving teenagers, vibrant, creative, and remarkably fun-spirited guys trying to come up with inane ideas and practical jokes. We both had been brought up on military charges more than a few times. We were reprimanded for our lack of responsibility to our peers and accused of excesses, what the services called tomfoolery; we were referred to as grown-up kids. The only reason we were not mustered out of the service or spending time in the stockade for some of the infractions was that Dave and I were two of a team of five that did what very few other men did. We had the good sense to distinguish between what was fun and games and what could be a matter of life and death. On a mission, it was serious shit, and we loved the thrill of the chase.

I looked at Dave, who was sitting across from me on another bench. I held my eyes on him for a couple of minutes. He was not looking back. I never could figure how he was able to fall asleep before a mission. No, he could fall asleep no matter where we were or what we were about to do. On maneuvers, when someone said, Take ten, he would sit on the ground or whatever was available, lean back on anything close by, and fall asleep. He would wake up and have more energy than any three men. Dave Wolff was just that, a wolf. Cunning, crafty, insidious, a sixth-sense for danger as he walked on air. Not really on air, but so light-footed that even if you were watching him move, you could not hear his steps. Wolff always chose to be the point man in every operation. I was sure this one was not going to be any different. We were going to pull one of our own out of whatever fuck-hole he had managed to get into. I knew instinctively it was not Avery Franks’ fault, because he never operated without thinking way ahead of where he was going and what the operation was about. In this particular case, Avery was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Avery Franks was the fifth man on our team, and we needed to get him out.

The Colonel touched the ground, and I was less than a second behind him. The light was fading fast, and parachuting in a forest-like condition in the dark was a little more difficult than during daylight hours. The four of us set down maybe thirty yards apart and regrouped quickly. The area was a natural clearing, with trees on all sides surrounding an open space a couple of hundred yards wide.

We kept as quiet as possible, using hand signals. We hugged the ground, listening – there were no noises. A light breeze rattled the leaves. Other than that, there were no sounds.

CHAPTER 2

T he four of us hit the dirt 50 yards from the mountain we were going to ascend. Slipping out of our chutes, we dragged our silks over to a low area that may have formed from the winter rains running off the surrounding hills and formed a shallow ravine. It took all of six minutes to dig a trench in the soft soil and cover the parachutes with dirt and leaves, and whatever was lying around. We headed west into the mountains.

Wolff took the lead. He was savvy enough and had led many a campaign into uncharted enemy areas. Nothing had to be said. Conversation was curtailed. We stayed off the usual paths that the locals traversed in these same mountains. We avoided troughs in the region and kept to the well-covered high terrain. As difficult as it was not to step on leaves and stumble over fallen branches, we hugged the bases of trees where the ground held moisture and allowed us some latitude for walking in silence.

We traveled continuously uphill for maybe five miles and probably would be close to our target. If I did not mention it, we were all in good physical shape; so far this was a cakewalk. We trained every day on some level. The weekends were no different. It wasn’t that we didn’t take time off for a social life; it was that the five of us got up a little earlier to work out and stay in shape. I looked at my watch. It was almost 2200. A billion stars wavered, and the moon, almost full, shone enough light to read by. We had not spoken much to each other since starting up the mountain. We paired up, primarily in the same area where we had temporarily stopped to wait for dawn. Two of us crawled near some bushes. One slept, and the other stood watch. The Colonel and Sabette were uphill some thirty yards from us. I was with Wolff and took the first lookout.

Wolff shook my foot about 0500. I opened my eyes and looked up at Wolff, Sabette, and the Colonel. Not a word was spoken. We started uphill again as the dawn was breaking. Wolff was still the point man. It was maybe a half-hour later when Wolff stopped and held up his arm. I sucked in a short breath of air. I watched Wolff move to the side. He really looked like he was on air and six inches off the ground. I was several yards downhill and could not see anything in his vicinity. Wolff’s side was toward me. He was reaching into his belt and withdrawing a knife. He moved forward and out of sight. There was not a sound from the man whose throat he cut. Wolff took a couple of steps backward before I caught a glimpse of him again. He paused for several seconds, still holding the man he had just killed. Wolff’s hand was over his adversary’s mouth. I was then able to see the upper portion of a very still body. Wolff gently placed the man’s remains on the ground. There was not a sound. I could not hear any movement when Wolff lowered his kill. Wolff gave no sign that everything was alright, so we stayed frozen in place.

Wolff and I were about the same height, about six-two, and as lean as a couple of greyhound dogs. Wolff could do over a hundred push-ups on his fingers and toes. I did them on the flats of my hands. In training, we usually ran with a platoon of men for five or six miles several times a week. I would say we were in damn good shape. Wolff was like a bull. He could press several times his body weight and had a grip like a vise.

Wolff held the knife in his left hand and moved out of sight again. The Colonel, Sabette, and I did not change our positions. I watched as Sabette un-holstered his sidearm. I did the same, though I was unaware of any targets confronting us.

The Colonel’s eyes were fixed on something as Wolff made his move. Sabette was transfixed on what Wolff was doing that I could not see. The trees were close and the forest very dense, so whatever action that was in front of me was blocked. The Colonel raised one thumb and pointed, then looked toward Sabette. Sabette moved forward cautiously, peering around to verify that there was no one but us in the area. When Sabette stepped a few paces uphill and became visible again, through an opening between the trees, he quickly glanced back toward the Colonel. I watched him raise his thumb.

The Colonel and I moved up to Sabette. Wolff was standing over another body that was face down. I had been twenty yards downhill and never heard a cry or as much as a sound from either dead man. I then realized we were adjacent to the compound that was probably holding Avery.

The four of us were out of sight of the compound’s open space. We were well hidden in the trees thirty yards from the outside of the barrier surrounding the enclosure. There were two fences about ten feet apart. Barbed wire was woven through the barricades and surrounded the tops of the metal. I estimated the chain link to be about a dozen feet high and noticed a twin set of cables running as far as I could see in either direction. In all probability, they were connected to some kind of alarm.

The closest building was on the opposite side of the compound’s open space and probably housed Avery. There were bars across the single window opening that was visible. The Colonel said that we would have to wait and estimate how many guards were stationed. His orders were, first, to move the two dead guys further downhill and conceal their remains. If there were other guards in the vicinity, we did not want the bodies to be seen. We needed a little time to verify where Avery was being held, but if assumptions were reliable, it had to be in that same building where the window was barred. Looking across the open field, we noticed two guards sitting on a bench smoking. There was no other activity that we could see.

After the remains of the two dead men were dealt with and covered with debris, I maneuvered within the edges of the forest, about 35 yards to one side of the compound. I crawled from the tree line, moving on my belly, set a block of C-4 next to a fence post and attached an electronic detonator. I returned to the team at about the same time as the Colonel, who had done the same thing on the far left of the compound. I handed my remote to the Colonel.

Five more guards were now visible and jawing it up in a little semicircle near the bench with the two smokers. The guards all had cups in their hands, and there was no other movement of personnel stirring about, so we assumed the seven bandits we could see, plus three or four more who were out of view and we couldn’t see, was the total enemy watching over the compound. I removed my rifle from my sling and lowered the legs of a tripod. I was using a long barrel with a sound suppressor. A .50 caliber is a powerful mother. It can do a lot of damage. If you hit your target, there would be no necessity to follow up on the same objective. The four of us loaded and waited for the Colonel to give us the go. I was probably as accurate at this distance as any of my team. Dave and Rais were more accurate at a mile; however, at this distance to the target was approximately 150 yards. I found a spot that would help conceal me from return fire, if any occurred. I took a position lying on the ground, feet spread apart and scoping the closest of the two smokers on the bench. I made the necessary adjustments for the 450-foot distance to my mark. I did not feel any wind, and the leaves on the surrounding trees did not indicate there was much of a breeze.

Colonel, I whispered, I have the two on the bench. I am going to give you a holiday sale, two for one. The Colonel smiled and took sight on a target. The team chose their objectives in the same manner as we were positioned. The Colonel was on my right, and Rais Sabette and Dave Wolff on my left.

The Colonel whispered, On three. I fired and watched as the first man on the bench fell forward. I thought I had missed the second smoker when I saw him stand, his head turned toward the other smoker, and then he too slumped to the ground. The .50 caliber round passed through the first man and struck the second smoker in his upper body and continued through into an area on the opposite side of the bench. I took aim at another figure and fired. The four of us put seven men on the ground.

We did not move from our positions. Colonel Reade,