Task Force Desperate (47 page)

I almost snarled at him that it was his intel that had us sitting here, but held my tongue. If he hadn’t suggested it, one of us probably would have. There was no going back now. There was too much blood.

“Sorry, Tom,” I said finally. “We’re getting a little strung out here, is all.”

“I understand,” he replied. “I would be, too. Didn’t mean to be REMF here. Just wish I was out there with you guys.”

Anybody else, I would have told, “No you don’t,” but I knew Tom. I knew he was sincere about wanting to be out in the field. These kinds of operations may not have been his forte, but he still would rather have been in the field, leading troops and busting heads, than stuck back at The Ranch, shuffling data.

Overhead, we could hear the clatter of boots as the Yemeni captain came aboard. We couldn’t hear voices, but we could imagine what was going on well enough.

Officially, the Yemeni government, what there was of it, opposed the piracy on the Gulf of Aden, and operated aggressively against the Somali pirates. Unofficially, the government was so weak and fragmented that there were factions within both the government and the military that were actively aiding the pirates. That lent some uncertainty to what exactly the Yemeni patrol really wanted.

Whatever was happening up there, we had to stay quiet and out of sight. We had bigger fish to fry on shore.

“I’ll keep you guys informed,” Tom said. “Out here.”

Larry, Jim, and I were trying to keep ourselves occupied by looking over the imagery again, along with the crappy little mockup we’d built out of scraps we’d found in the crew spaces, trying to skull out how to do the takedown. About all we were coming up with was get in fast, hit hard, kill as many as we could on the ground, and get the hell out. The lack of air support was going to be a major stumbling block. We couldn’t swoop in like Delta or DevGru, land on the roof, clear the building, and then get back on the Little Birds and fly away. We had a klick to hump in, and another klick to hump out. And the hump out was probably going to be under fire.

Finally there was another clatter of footsteps overhead, followed by the scrape of the gangplank being pulled away. A few minutes later, Alek came back down to join us in the narrow passageway we’d commandeered as our quasi team room.

“That was surprisingly straightforward,” he said. “All they wanted was their bribe, especially with Caleb sitting on the forecastle watching them through his sights. Anything new from the Colonel?”

“Yeah,” I told him. “Our primary target is on-site, but they’re still waiting on somebody from Dubai. Apparently, Al-Khalidi’s using our hit in Balbala to get more backing from the Emir. What it looks like, anyway.”

Alek checked his watch. It was only an hour to sunset. “Is he sticking overnight?”

“Sounds like it, but we’ll have to see.”

Alek looked around the shooters scattered along the length of the passageway. “Well, it’s decision time, gents. We get one shot at this guy. If we commit, and miss him, there’s no next time.”

There was silence for a moment, then a round of nods. “Let’s do it,” Eddie said. No one disagreed. We got our kit on and got ready to launch.

Chapter 33

B
oats One and Two floated seven hundred meters offshore, waiting. The motors were turned off, and the only sound was the slap of the mild waves against the black rubber gunwales. We could just see Boat Three two hundred meters closer in, dropping off the scouts.

Jim was huddled under a glorified poncho back across from the coxswain seat, stooped over the small PDA that he was using to control the Aeroseeker that was even now quietly orbiting the target site. We hadn’t been able to launch the UAVs from the ship; they didn’t have the range, at least they didn’t if we wanted to keep our RF signature low. But here, at less than a mile, it was easy.

I felt a tap on my leg, and looked back to see Jim holding out the PDA, wrapped in the blackout cloth. We could have turned the PDA’s brightness down to where it could be read with NVGs, but the PVS-14 sucks for fine detail, so we just covered up as we used it. I took the PDA, threw the damp blackout sheet over my head, and brought up the display.

Jim had the mini-UAV set to orbit automatically, keeping about three hundred meters away from the target compound. The little drone had some serious cameras on it, so I was able to zoom in on thermal and take a good look.

There was a
lot
of security around the building itself. I counted at least twenty very expensive cars and doubtless up-armored SUVs parked in the open field in front of the building. There were ten guards on the rooftop, and what looked like a reinforced squad out on the grounds. I counted four at the main gate, along with what looked like a sandbagged machinegun, maybe a Kord. It was going to be a hell of a nut to crack, just getting in, never mind finding Al-Khalidi in there. Especially when I considered that it was one in the morning, and there was probably at least one more shift worth of soldiers inside, sleeping.

But they had made one mistake. For all the strength of their security, they didn’t have anybody on the outer wall. Their shooters weren’t moving much past the parking lot. The outer wall was clear.

I pulled my head out of the blackout cloth, wrapped up the PDA, and passed it to Larry. At almost the same time, Chad’s voice hissed in my earpiece, “Scouts inserted.”

“Ten minutes,” Alek whispered. “Then we head in.”

Ten minutes seemed to drag like ten hours. Ashore, we could see the lights of Little Aden, including the red warning lights on top of the three tall smokestacks over the Al Hiswah power plant. There didn’t seem to be any traffic on the shoreline road at this time of night, fortunately. We couldn’t see Marcus and Chris, who were probably halfway to shore by now.

Finally, Lee cranked the outboard to life, and we started to move, sliding slowly and quietly across the water toward the Yemeni beach. All three boats were aiming for a very narrow spot; there were several little fishing shacks down on the shoreline itself that we wanted to avoid. Back from the beach, and east, there were several bungalows. Though all were dark at the time, we didn’t want to chance getting too close and waking somebody up. They’d wake up soon enough.

The boats puttered up to the sandy strip of shore. Larry and I leaned out over the bow, trying to see the bottom, and both put our fists up at almost the same time. Lee cut the throttle, and we bailed out into knee-deep water, trying not to splash too much. The two of us held the boat steady while Jim and Alek got out, then Lee reversed the engine and backed off the beach. To our right and left, the other two boats were doing the same thing. They’d hold position about four hundred meters offshore until we needed to extract.

We waded to shore, spread out in a loose wedge. The muted surf drowned out any splashing we made. The sand of the beach was soft, and our steps made no sound as we moved up toward the dusty scrub. Two at a time, we split off into our raid elements and moved to our positions.

Larry and I had paired up for this one. We moved carefully up to the edge of the highway that ran along the shore, and took a knee in the bushes, side by side, our boots touching so we could communicate, even facing opposite directions, without having to move very far or whisper very loud. We waited and watched in silence, looking and listening for a car. There was nothing, and we would be able to see headlights a good long distance away. Long enough to count, anyway.

I hefted my rifle in my shooting hand, and thumped Larry on the shoulder with my off hand as I came to my feet, then sprinted across the highway. It felt like the longest sprint I’d ever run, even though it was barely fifty meters from the south side of the road to the low wall that surrounded the target site. It wasn’t so much the actual distance, of course, but the exposure. Even in the dark, I felt like a bug on a plate.

Larry came huffing after me, and thudded into the side of the wall. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t have a lot of time to take a breather. He braced his back against the wall, and cupped his hands. I put my boot in his hands, and hoisted myself to the top of the wall. A quick look showed nothing nearby. I hoped like hell I wasn’t about to silhouette myself on the wall just as a hajji guard happened to be looking this way with NVGs.

I slung my rifle to my back and planted my gloved hands on top of the wall, pushing up as I swung one leg up. With some effort, and Larry’s help, I was soon lying prone on top of the wall. I reached one hand down to Larry, who grabbed it. I dropped down the inside as Larry climbed the outside, acting as something of a counterweight. With some scuffling and one clink of a rifle against concrete that made my heart just about stop, we both got over. Crouched in the shadowed corner of the wall, I scanned the huge courtyard, watching for any sign we’d been spotted or heard. Nothing.

Keeping next to the wall, we got down on our bellies and started to crawl, slowly and carefully. It was a lot like a stalk at sniper school, except there were real lives at stake.

The ground was all hard dirt and rocks, and my hands and knees were aching in short order. But finally we were settled in the prone a bare few meters from the guard post at the main gate.

There was indeed a Kord heavy machine gun mounted behind the sandbags. Only one hajji was manning it, while the other three lounged and shot the shit. They were wearing older but still serviceable body armor, and some kind of tactical vests. Their weapons were new, HK G36Cs. No beat up old AKs for these boys.

“Hillbilly in position,” I whispered into my headset. Two clicks answered.

All around the compound, our two-man teams were getting into position to wreak the most havoc. When all the pieces were in place, the show would begin.

Finally, Alek’s voice came over the radio. “Start the music,” was all he said. It was all he needed to say.

There was a flash and a bone-shaking
thud
from the west wall. Dust and debris rose high into the air, and started to rain down on the courtyard. Marcus and Chris had brought one hell of a charge with them. But that was just the diversion.

Even as yelling in several Arabic dialects started to sound across the courtyard in the aftermath of the deafening explosion, Larry and I got up, lined up the guards at the gate, and shot each of them twice. They never even knew what was happening. The guy on the Kord didn’t even get to turn around before his head exploded all over the heavy gun’s receiver.

The rapid thumping of two of our M60E4s started up soon after the blast, raking the roof of the target building. Larry rolled the dead guard off the Kord, before quickly stripping it and taking the firing pin. I watched the number two building, where Tom’s source had said the majority of the guard garrison was going to be housed.

Sure enough, moments after the attack had started, hastily kitted out soldiers and fighters started to rush out the front door. It was a turkey shoot. They were lined up neatly in the narrow doorway. There was enough light from the building that I didn’t need my NVGs. I laid the scope on the first one and opened fire.

The M1A thumped heavily, the suppressor muffling but not completely eliminating the harsh crack of each shot. The Troy stock helped even out the recoil, and the barrel stayed where I put it, as I dumped the entire mag in less than ten seconds. As I stripped out the empty and rocked in a new mag, the enemy fighters who’d survived the initial fusillade were scrambling back into the building, trying to find another way out.

“We’ve got to move,” Larry said next to me. He was right. If we stayed put, they’d maneuver on us and we’d be done. I scrambled to my feet, and we started running toward the target building. Behind us, I heard several muted
thump
s, and then the entrance to building two dissolved in multiple explosions. Mike was having fun with the MGL rotary grenade launcher he’d gotten his hands on, thanks to Logan.

Larry and I met Alek, Jim, Bob, and Bo at the entrance to the target building. The doors had been glass; they had shattered, and the shards were scattered across the steps. Jim pulled the igniter on the fucking
huge
concussion charge he’d brought ashore, and chucked it up the steps and into the foyer.

Being closer, that blast felt and sounded ten times bigger than the charge Chris and Marcus had set. Dust and smoke billowed out of the smashed doors and debris whickered through the air. As soon as the patter of second-hand shrapnel stopped, we charged in.

The dust and smoke was still pretty thick, but the thermal attachments on our 14s cut through it well enough. There were about half a dozen guys on the floor in the foyer, and I was pretty sure they were dead, from overpressure if nothing else. We shot each one as we went through, just to be sure.

We were across the foyer before anybody on the balcony above was able to unfuck themselves enough to do anything. Alek went straight to the first set of doors and kicked them open. Larry and I flowed through, while Jim and Alek covered our six.

It was the old parliamentary chamber. The lights in the foyer had shattered from the blast, but they were still on in here. It was fairly small for such things, amounting to little more than a large meeting room, with raised seating. I guess there hadn’t been very many parliamentarians in the Federation of South Arabia.

Whatever the British, who had built it for the FSA, had had in mind, I was pretty sure they hadn’t been thinking of what we saw. Jihadi flags were on all four walls, along with inscriptions in Arabic, and pictures of Said Al-Khalidi, five times life size. He looked to me like a pussy; he was fat, and had a weak chin.

Other than the seats, the podium, and the posters and flags on the walls, the chamber was empty. There was also only one way in or out.

“On the door!” Alek snapped. He and Jim immediately turned and faced out the opening. A moment later shots snapped in through the open door, smacking plaster off the far wall. Larry and I scrambled to get out of the line of fire, and wound up on opposite sides of the door.