President of the United States
The Pentagon,
Washington, D C. 1027 Hours, Zone Time;
February 15, 2007
FROM: CNO
To: CINCNAVSPECFORCE
SUBJECT: UNITED NATIONS AFRICAN INTERDICTION FORCE
(MISSION COMMITMENT)
Okay, Eddie Mac, this one is NAVSPECFORCE’s baby. Put a Littoral Warfare package together out of your deployable assets and get it ready to go. The U.N. will be voting on the Guinea issue this Friday. The Boss wants us to be ready to move fast on this one should the interdiction motion pass. Get an estimate on your package support and logistics requirements to my Chief of Staff with all speed and I will see you get the priorities. Sorry about the force size limitations, but the President is bucking heavy congressional resistance on a U.S. involvement in West Africa. Do the best you can with what you’ve got.
ADM. Jason Harwell
Chief of Naval Operations
Pearl Harbor Fleet Base,
Hawaii 1105 Hours, Zone Time;
February 24, 2007
From: CINCNAVSPECFORCE
To: CHIEF OF STAFF; PROVISIONAL UNAFIN PLANNING GROUP
SUBJECT: UNITED NATIONS AFRICAN lNTERDICTION FORCE
(FORCE DEPLOYMENTS)
A: Following UNAFIN Task Force elements approved; Mobile Offshore Base 1, Patrol Gunboat-Air Cushion Squadron 1, Patrol Craft Squadron 9, TACNET-A Tactical Intelligence Network and all listed support elements.
B: Replace proposed SEAL detachment with a full SOC Marine Company. Trim the additional personnel slots out of LOG group as required.
C: All elements are to be placed on alert to move status for immediate forward deployment to UNAFIN Prime Base, Conakry.
Expedite.
Vice Admiral Elliot Macintyre
Commander in Chief,
US Naval Special Forces
Monrovia,
West African Union 1431 Hours, Zone Time;
April 28, 2007
United Nations Special Envoy Vavra Bey was living proof that beauty is not something reserved solely for the young. Her graduation picture from the University of Istanbul showed a rather plain, dark-haired young woman, stocky in build and sober in demeanor. For her, beauty had not come until the onset of silver hair, crow’s-feet, and a double chin—the beauty born out of poise and experience, courage and confidence. Humor had come as well, but she could hold that well concealed behind her dark eyes. She was the iron-willed grandmother figure who could effortlessly invoke either adoration or stark fear as she desired. This applied not only to her children and grandchildren, but equally to the statesmen and dignitaries she confronted on the diplomatic battlegrounds of the world.
Now, seated at the end of the scarred conference table, she frowned to herself.
“What do you think, Madam Envoy?” The very formal and very young Norwegian who served as her assistant blotted at his face with a sweat-dampened handkerchief. The air-conditioning of the Mamba Point Hotel had yet to be put back in order, and the meeting room sweltered despite the windows opened to the sea breeze.
“I’m not sure, Lars. We can only hope for reason.”
In her heart, Vavra Bey already knew what the answer was going to be.
Voices murmured in the corridor beyond the meeting room and the two pistol-armed sentries flanking the door snapped to attention. The envoy and the other members of the small U.N. delegation rose to their feet as Premier General Belewa returned to the room.
He was not alone. His chief of staff, Brigadier Atiba, followed him in, taking a step aside and coming to a smart parade rest near the door. A second man also followed, but he stayed close at Belewa’s shoulder, as if seeking to garner an enhanced presence from the tall black warrior.
Dasheel Umamgi, the ambassador-at-large of the Algerian Revolutionary Council, wore the robes and headdress of a Muslim imam. However, Vavra Bey suspected that he had no right to the title either by education or true belief. It was just that a proclaimed religious fanaticism had been one of the better ways to achieve power in the howling chaos that had engulfed Algeria during the first years of the new century. Revolutionary Algeria had taken the place of Libya as the premier troublemaker of North Africa, and it was no surprise to find them active here.
Gray bearded and dark eyed, the mock holy man leveled a long and cold stare at Vavra. He hated her, because she too was Muslim and yet was not a true believer—in him, at any rate. She was pleased to say he had other reasons to hate her as well.
General Belewa gave an acknowledging nod to the U.N. emissaries and resumed his seat at his end of the table. Bey sank into her own chair, not speaking, allowing the General the first word.
“Madam Envoy,” Belewa began slowly, “I have been in consultation with my staff and advisers and I do not know what more we can say on this matter. We flatly deny the charges leveled against us by the government of Guinea. Above and beyond our stated policy and desire for friendship with all nations, the West African Union is far too concerned with its own internal affairs to undertake this kind of … adventurism with its neighboring states. If Guinea is suffering from an internal rebellion, as we believe to be the case, have them look to making things right with their own discontented population. That is where the solution lies, not with accusing us of aggression.”
“And yet,” Bey replied, “even you must admit, General Belewa, that one of the major causes of discontent within Guinea currently stems from the massive influx of Union refugees into that nation. There are over a hundred and eighty thousand listed in the U.N. aid camps alone. We have no idea how many others are wandering and starving in the countryside.”
Belewa shrugged and leaned back into his chair. “Nor do we, Madam Envoy. We have no control over this state of affairs either. These individuals have left Union territory illegally and without proper documentation. They have entered Guinea the same way. This is a criminal matter for the Guinean authorities to deal with. We have no responsibility in this matter. There is nothing we can do.”
“There is, General. You can open your borders and permit these refugees to return to their homes within the Union, thus ending this crisis for both your nation and Guinea.”
The tall black man shook his head decisively. “That will be impossible. As I said, there is no documentation on these individuals. How are we to know who is a true citizen of the Union and who is not? And we suspect that there may be many criminals, terrorists, and malcontents numbered among these so-called refugees. We are no better able to deal with this problem than Guinea is.”
“General Belewa.” Vavra Bey’s voice lowered a tone. “These are citizens of the Union. The interviews we have conducted in the refugee camps all indicate the same thing, that these people were driven across the border by Union troops we believe acting under your orders.”
“We deny these charges categorically,” Belewa replied flatly. “As I said, there are many malcontents among these individuals—revolutionaries, criminals, and members of the old regimes fleeing justice. People with reason to lie about the true state of affairs in the West African Union. Our borders will remain closed to these disruptive elements, and any attempt to return them to Union territory will be met by armed force.”
“I see.” Vavra Bey’s words hung isolated in the air for a moment. “And do you also still deny that the armed forces of the West African Union have been performing acts of aggression against the nation of Guinea in preparation for an invasion and military takeover?”
“We do. The government of Guinea is seeking to shift the blame for its own failings onto the West African Union.”
“The intelligence reports turned over to the United Nations by a number of major world powers indicate something quite different, General.”
“Then the United Nations should look to the self-serving agendas of these world powers to learn why they wish
to defame my nation!”
Vavra Bey paused for a long moment, her face immobile, her eyes lowered to the scratched tabletop, her mind seeking for any diplomatic possibility or potential not yet explored. Decades of diplomatic instinct told her they were at the point of decision and commitment. When she looked up to speak again, it would be to start them all down a precarious and potentially bloody path.
She lifted her eyes.
“General Belewa, as you are fully aware, the intent of this commission was a final effort to find a diplomatic solution to a situation that threatens to disrupt the entirety of West Africa. That solution has not been found. The West African Union stands accused of engaging in a campaign of aggression and conquest against a neighboring state. That aggression stands self-evident. Likewise self-evident is the abuse by the West African Union of its own citizens in the face of all accepted standards of human rights and justice. Such actions are no longer acceptable to the world community.”
The U.N. envoy rose to her feet, her erectness giving the impression that she was taller then she was. “A vote of censure against the West African Union, United Nations Resolution 26867, has been passed by the Security Council. A second resolution, 26868, calling for a U.N. embargo of all armaments, petroleum, and other militarily-related materials, has also been passed but placed in abeyance pending the outcome of these talks. In the meantime, U.N. forces have been moved into position to both enforce this mandate, if necessary, and to assist the government of Guinea in maintaining the security of its national borders.
“I say to you now, General Belewa, that these talks have failed. If word is not received from your government by midnight, tomorrow, that you are standing down your armed forces and ceasing your acts of aggression against the nation of Guinea, this embargo will be placed in effect.”
Belewa’s face was an expressionless study, his voice toneless. “As I said before, Madam Envoy, I do not know what more there is to be said on this subject.”
“Apparently nothing, General.”
Belewa rose abruptly. Without speaking, he turned and left the conference room. His chief of staff and the Algerian ambassador followed. The Algerian had possibly the only pleased expression in the room.
“That’s it, then,” Bey’s aide said quietly. “My God, doesn’t he realize that he will be taking on the entire world?”
“He knows, Lars,” she replied quietly. “Every generation seems to spin off one or two like him who are willing to give it a try. The frightening thing is that sometimes they win.”
General Belewa stood on the small balcony outside his private office, deeply inhaling the clean smell of the sea. He was glad he had chosen to keep the seat of the government here at what had been the Mamba Point Hotel. He liked the view. It reminded him of what the struggle was all about.
Below him, between the ridge of the point and the Mesurado River, the lights of the Union’s capital city glowed in the growing tropic dusk. Not as many as there should be yet, but a few more gleamed each night as old buildings were repaired and new ones constructed.
Vehicles moved in the streets as well. Again, not as many as there should be, but they served as heralds for a resurgent economy. As Belewa watched, a truck lumbered across the ironically named United Nations Bridge, heading north, possibly to the port or maybe up the coast to the Sierra Leone provinces.
No, more than likely the port. A ship was unloading tonight. Out beyond the long artificial breakwaters of Port Monrovia, Belewa could see the yellow glare of the work lights. In his mind’s eye he could visualize the tools, machinery, and armaments pouring ashore. The things he needed to make the Union strong. That cargo was more precious than ever now because it might be the last for some time.
Belewa inhaled deeply once more, drawing new strength from the night, then he returned to his responsibilities.
Sako Atiba and Ambassador Umamgi were waiting for him in the office. Belewa acknowledged the ambassador’s deep salaam with a brief nod.
“Your defiance in the face of the westerners was magnificent today, General,” Umamgi said as he straightened. “The Revolutionary Council salutes your courage.”
“It was something that had to happen eventually, Ambassador,” Belewa replied shortly, seating himself behind his desk. “Speaking frankly, I wish it could have been put off until later.”
“I also wish to assure you again, General, that the Council will stand at your shoulder during the coming struggle with the colonialists. You shall have our prayers.”
“A pity we couldn’t have a battalion of tanks and a few surface-to-air missiles as well,” Atiba interjected grimly.
Umamgi smiled without humor. “The Brigadier knows that we are a poor nation, as is your own, impoverished by our own struggle against the infidel West. However, we can promise to provide you with the long-range cargo aircraft you will need to maintain an air link with my nation and the outside world.”
Atiba lifted an eyebrow sardonically. “At a price, of course.”
“That’s enough, Sako,” Belewa interjected. “Ambassador Umamgi, you may rest assured that your alliance is held in great value by the Union. Your aid and assistance in these troubled times will be long remembered. We are most grateful for whatever assistance your nation can most generously offer.”
Umamgi smiled smugly and inclined his head.
“But,” Belewa went on levelly, “there are certain aspects of that aid we need to discuss, Ambassador.”
“And what are they, General?”
“We are extremely grateful for the cadre of military advisers and instructors that Algeria has sent us, Ambassador. However, we find that there is a minor problem with the curriculums they are using.”
“A problem?”
“Indeed.” Belewa nodded. “My advisers inform me that there is a degree of … religious indoctrination incorporated into most of the training programs.”
Umamgi smiled again, without humor. “Our troops are warriors of Islam. They only wish to share their beliefs with their comrades at arms.”
Belewa returned a cold smile of his own. “And they are welcome to. In the Union, all are free to choose their own faith, be it Christianity, Islam, or the beliefs of our African forefathers. Your soldiers are free to speak of their religion in the mosques, in the streets, wherever they choose …except for when they are on duty in my training camps.”
There was no longer even a false smile on Umamgi’s face.
“You will have this matter corrected, Ambassador.” Belewa’s words were a command and not a question.
The clash of wills was short. Umamgi half bowed. “As you wish, General. After all, we are guests in your country.”
“Thank you, Ambassador. And see to it tonight, if you please.”
“At once, General. Peace be unto you.”
The Algerian turned for the door, but not quite fast enough to conceal the scowl that came across his vulpine features.
After the ambassador had taken his leave, Sako Atiba donned a scowl of his own. “Damnation. Don’t we have enough trouble with our enemies that we have to be saddled with friends like that?”
Belewa gave a short laugh. “Not friends, Sako, allies. And allies are like relatives—you can’t choose them, you just have to accept them as they come.” His features grew sober again. “The Algerians seek to use us to further their aims just as we use them to further our own. It is a thing we must live with, my friend. We shall need all the help we can get for the next few months, from whatever source.”
Atiba shook his head. “This U.N. blockade. They will try to strangle the life out of us, Obe. Will they succeed?”
It was Belewa’s turn to shake his head. “I don’t know, my friend. This had to come sooner or later. To the Western world, it is a knee-jerk reaction to our national expansion. They don’t yet understand what we are tryin
g to do here for ourselves and for all of Africa. They cannot see beyond the military occupations and the change in the status quo.”
Belewa rose from behind his desk and crossed the room to stand in front of the regional map tacked to the wall. “No, Sako. This confrontation had to come. It would have been better if we could have secured Guinea first, but we’ve made our preparations. We’re ready to take it on now.”
The Chief of Staff came to stand at his general’s side. “What is our first move, Obe?”
“We attack. In any war, victory lies only in the attack. Defense is the precursor to defeat.”
“And our target?”
Belewa’s hand came up, his finger aimed at a point on the map “There.”
Atiba’s eyebrows lifted. “At Conakry? At the main U.N. base?”
“If you would kill an enemy, what better place to strike than at his heart. For a long time, Sako, they have let us alone simply because we weren’t worth the trouble of bothering with. Now we must make them leave us alone by not being worth the blood price they will have to pay for interfering.”
Conflict
Conakry, Guinea 1831 Hours, Zone Time;
May 3, 2007
Two craft converged on the city of Conakry.
One was an airplane, riding swift and high above the dull azure of the Atlantic. A multiengined Orion P3C turboprop, it had been built for the U.S. navy during the 1980s as a long range antisubmarine patrol plane. Of late, however, it had undergone a change in mission. With its sleek fuselage bulged and spiked with the antennae of an extensively augmented communications array, it now served as a command-and-control aircraft, the personal ride of CINCNAVSPEFORCE, the Commander in Chief, U.S. Naval Special Forces.
The other craft was a small boat, creeping slowly west along the verdant African shoreline. It was the larger of the two classic types of Gold Coast small craft, a pinasse. Forty five feet in length and narrow in beam, she had the high bowed, long-lined sleekness of her war canoe ancestors, a grace that transcended her battered condition. With a cargo of sacked rice piled amidships and a low, tarp-roofed deck shelter astern, she held her course through the low crossing swells, a thumping two-cylinder diesel driving her on.
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