Chapter 22 – A Father's Pride
Washington, D.C. – NCIS Headquarters – June 2002
The strong black coffee cooled slowly in Leroy Jethro Gibbs' mug, forgotten beside a stack of reports on his desk at NCIS. The office was relatively quiet, a rarity in recent months, ever since the war in Afghanistan had begun generating more and more investigations involving Marines and Navy officers.
He was focused on a file about arms smuggling on military bases when he overheard the conversation in the next room.
"Did you hear about the Delta sniper?" asked one of the NCIS agents, a former SEAL named Harrison Brooks, while filling his coffee cup in the break room.
"What happened?" replied Agent Stan Burrows, another veteran, but from the Army.
Gibbs wasn't the curious type, but something about the mention of Delta Force caught his attention. He adjusted his posture, but continued pretending to read the report while the two continued talking.
"They say a Delta operator broke a shooting record in Afghanistan." Brooks paused dramatically. "Two and a half kilometers."
Burrows whistled.
"Shit…"
Brooks nodded, taking a sip of his coffee.
"The target was an Al-Qaeda HVT, hidden in a mountain compound. The guy hit the target with a CheyTac M200 at 2,500 meters, with strong winds and high terrain."
Burrows let out an impressed laugh.
"Who was the shooter?"
Brooks shrugged.
"That's classified. But there's already talk in the military. The Delta guys are celebrating."
Gibbs maintained an impassive expression, but inside, he already knew the answer. Jason.
Later that day, Gibbs was in his basement, sanding a piece of wood, trying to ignore the persistent thought in his mind.
The landline rang.
He wiped his hands on his jeans and answered.
— Gibbs.
The voice on the other end of the line was familiar.
— Leroy, long time no see.
Gibbs recognized him immediately.
Mike Franks.
His old friend and mentor, now retired, but always well-informed about what was happening in the military world.
— Mike. Any special reason to call me?
Franks laughed on the other end of the line.
— Can't I call an old friend?
Gibbs didn't answer. He knew Franks only called when he had something important.
After a short silence, Franks sighed.
— Listen, partner… I heard some rumors coming straight from Fort Bragg. They say a Delta operator broke a sniper record.
Gibbs pursed his lips.
"2,500 meters."
Franks laughed.
"You've heard of it, huh? So you also know your boy is responsible, don't you?"
Gibbs neither confirmed nor denied it.
"They say it was a perfect shot," Franks continued. "The Delta guys don't talk about it officially, but internally, they're calling it 'The Ghost Shot.' The operator fired and disappeared before anyone could track him."
Gibbs rested his hand on the wooden counter, feeling a different weight on his chest.
"Is he okay?"
Franks was silent for a moment before answering.
"Gibbs… your boy is not only okay, he's becoming a living legend."
That night, Gibbs didn't sleep.
As much as he was used to Jason being in danger, knowing that he was making history in the shadows of war was something different.
Shortly after midnight, he picked up the phone and dialed a secure number.
It rang three times before a voice answered on the other end.
"—Gibbs."
His father smiled slightly.
"—Jay."
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
"—How did you know?"
Gibbs chuckled softly through his nose.
"—The military world isn't as discreet as it likes to think."
Jason sighed.
"—That was a good shot."
"—2,500 meters is more than just 'good,' Jason."
Another silence.
"—Are you proud?"
Gibbs squinted, surprised by the question.
"—Did you have to ask?"
Jason hesitated before speaking:
"—I just wanted to hear you say it."
Gibbs relaxed his posture and rested his forehead against his hand.
"—I've always been proud of you. This shot only proved that the world now knows what I've always known."
On the other end, Jason chuckled softly.
"Thank you, Dad."
Gibbs took a deep breath.
"When are you coming back?"
"I don't know yet. The war is just beginning."
Gibbs closed his eyes for a moment.
"Then keep your head down."
"Always."
They were silent for a few seconds before Jason spoke:
"I need to go."
Gibbs nodded.
"Take care, son."
Jason replied softly, almost a whisper:
"You too."
The call ended.
Gibbs stared at the phone for a long time before finally letting out a sigh and returning to his desk.
He knew this war was far from over.
But, for now, he allowed himself to feel proud of the man his son had become.
Chapter 23 – The Hunt for Saddam Hussein
Tikrit, Iraq – December 13, 2003
The hot, dry air of the Iraqi desert was thick, heavy with the smell of dust and accumulated sweat. Jason Gibbs adjusted his M4A1 Block II against his chest, his eyes scanning every shadow cast by the few dim lights of the potholed streets of Ad-Dawr, a remote village south of Tikrit.
They were in the final stages of a hunt that had lasted for months.
The hunt for Saddam Hussein.
Jason and his Delta Force team, along with members of the Army's 4th Psychological Operations Group and the 1st Combat Brigade of the 4th Infantry Division, were leading Operation Red Dawn.
Intelligence indicated that Saddam was hiding in one of the region's many rural compounds, receiving protection from loyal remnants of the Ba'ath regime.
— We're close. — murmured Fox, walking alongside Jason with his HK416 in hand.
Hawk, the team leader, pressed the radio.
— Teams Alpha and Bravo, confirm position.
The responses came quickly. The teams were already surrounding the location.
Jason felt the adrenaline surge.
Today was the day they would capture the world's most wanted dictator.
At 8:30 PM, the operators stealthily advanced toward the small cluster of mud houses and weathered sheds.
Jason and Fox led the silent entry from the side of the complex.
Forces from the 4th Infantry Division surrounded the outer area, ensuring no one escaped.
Jason kicked open the door of one of the shacks and entered with Fox right behind him, their weapons scanning the dark room.
The room was empty, only mattresses strewn on the floor and leftover food.
Hawk spoke over the radio:
"Nothing here. But we have another underground structure."
Jason looked at Fox.
"The rat hole."
The complex seemed abandoned, but something didn't add up.
That's when Turner, who was outside with an engineering team, discovered something strange near a small stable.
"There's a metal cover on the ground here. It looks like a tunnel."
Jason and the others ran to the spot.
The cover was camouflaged with sand and dry grass.
Fox knelt down and pulled hard, revealing a small underground entrance—an improvised hideout.
Hawk activated his tactical flashlight, illuminating the inside of the hole.
And then… they saw it.
A bearded man, with disheveled hair, tired eyes, and a posture of pure defeat blinked against the light.
Jason felt an instant shock.
"It can't be."
Fox narrowed his eyes.
— It's him.
Jason picked up the radio.
— We have the target.
Two soldiers from the 4th Infantry pulled Saddam out of his hiding place.
He looked unrecognizable compared to the arrogant dictator from the propaganda videos. His face was dirty, his beard long and disheveled.
But it was him.
The general of the 4th Infantry, seeing Saddam being handcuffed, approached and said:
— Saddam Hussein?
The former dictator looked at him and murmured:
— I am Saddam Hussein, president of Iraq. And I want to negotiate.
Jason exchanged a look with Fox and couldn't help but chuckle.
— It's too late for that, my friend.
After confirming Saddam's identity, news of the capture began to circulate on the radio.
The mission was accomplished.
Now, they had time to relax and savor the glory of the moment.
Fox pulled out a cigarette and laughed.
"We need a picture of this."
Jason, Hawk, Turner, and some Delta operators gathered beside the former dictator, who was handcuffed and sitting on the ground, visibly defeated.
They took photos smiling, holding their weapons and making victory gestures.
Fox picked up Saddam's golden rifle an AK-47 completely gold-plated.
"Now THIS is a trophy."
Jason picked up the Rolex watch Saddam wore and spun it on his wrist.
"Good taste."
Later that night, while the team relaxed at a temporary base, Jason sat alone, reflecting on the day.
Fox approached, holding a beer.
"Thinking about what we did?"
Jason nodded.
"It was historic."
Fox smiled and patted him on the shoulder.
— And tomorrow, we'll go after the next one.
Jason nodded.
The war wasn't over yet.
But they had just closed one of its most important chapters.
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