2114 hours Indian Ocean Prison Mombasa, Kenya
"We move left," Murdock said looking down the long corridor. "As I remember, the bulk of the building was to the left."
"We clear all these doors?" Jaybird asked.
"No, this isn't a prisoner area. We look for some stairs or an open area or cell blocks. Where the hell do they keep the bad guys in this place?"
They trotted down the corridor on the concrete floor. Four lights down they came to a stairway to the left. At the top of the one flight of steps, a steel security gate barred the way. Quinley had stayed close behind Holt this time, and moved up to the barricade without orders. This one was different.
It had double locks on a hinged door. Less secure than the previous one. Quinley applied TNAZ blocks, molding them around both hinges on the four-foot-wide door. The SEALs moved back down the hall fifty feet, and a moment later Quinley came racing down the steps and around the corner, putting his hands over his ears.
The explosions were sharper this time, and just as effective. The steel gate sagged to the side, blown off both hinges but still fastened with the lock. They kicked the gate open further and hurried through. Murdock motioned his men along both walls, and he pointed at Red Nicholson, his scout.
Red went up the corridor, and around a corner. He was back in half a minute. "Bingo, L-T. We've got cell blocks up here, but they're all empty."
"How many?"
"A bunch. Extend to hell and gone to the left and right."
"No prisoners?"
"Nary a damned one, L-T, and two security gates like this one are wide open."
"Let's go have a look."
It was as Red had said. They jogged down the aisle in the center. The cells were open, but showed signs that they had been used recently.
Loudspeakers boomed.
"All prisoners, this is general lock-down. A general lock-down. No prisoner will be outside his cell. Any so found will be shot on sight."
Murdock scowled. Where the hell were the American prisoners? He put his men on double time, and they ran down the cell block. Twenty yards ahead, a stuttering machine gun sent a rain of bullets toward them. They flattened out, and four men in the front of the line of SEALs returned fire.
The lighting was faint in the cell blocks, but with their NVGs they spotted two Kenyan soldiers ahead working with a jammed gun. Red used his M-4A1 and cut down both men with two bursts. The SEALS ran forward.
The two Kenyans had guarded a cross corridor. This security gate was shut tight. Ahead they could see more cell blocks, but better lighted.
"Do it, Quinley," Murdock said. It was routine now. Quinley hit the gate on the hinges again, and the SEALS were through in thirty seconds.
When the sound of the blast died down and their hearing came back to normal, they could hear men chattering somewhere. They listened. English.
Murdock motioned his men down the corridor. Almost at once it opened into a catwalk over a huge room with two floors of cell blocks and guards patrolling below. Murdock hit his mike. The green-clad troopers were looking around after hearing the explosions. Some had cowered behind cover.
"Got them," Murdock said into the mike. "Looks like our guys. Go to the floor. Fire over the ramp. Watch for any ricochets into the cells. Those are our boys down there. Don't fire until we're at the other end. Then use the silenced shooters."
He left DeWitt's crew there, and with his seven men moved slowly and silently along the catwalk-like structure to the far end. It was about fifty yards.
They used the silenced MP-5s when Murdock turned them loose. DeWitt's crew nailed three of the Kenyan ranger guards before they knew what happened. Murdock's squad cut down four more on his end of the cell block.
A moment later every light in the cell-block area went out. Murdock grinned in the blackness. "Good, we use the NVGs. We can see them, they can't see us."
Murdock used the mike. "DeWitt, spread out your men to cover this area. I'll take my guys down some stairs I see ahead. Must be a control area here somewhere. We need it to get those cell doors open."
"Hey, you guys up there. Americans, right?" The voice came from below. A shot blazed in the darkness from below.
"Yes. Keep quiet so they don't shoot you. Stay cool," Murdock yelled. A round came his way, but missed. He moved his squad out to the door. He and Red went down the steps cautiously. They found two guards below bewildered by the blackout.
Red moved up on one and clubbed him with his rifle butt, and gunned down the other man. They dragged the dazed Kenyan back, but then realized he might speak no English. Murdock slapped him back to consciousness.
"Die in ten seconds or talk to us in English," Murdock snarled.
The man groaned, felt his head, and looked to where he could make out the vague shadows. "Yes, English. Who the hell are you?"
"We ask the questions. Where are the cell-block control panels?"
"End of corridor to left. Not far."
"Good, you might live through this. How many soldiers and guards here?"
"Only fifty soldiers. Guards all run away."
"Let's go to the control panel. We can see in the dark. Lead the way. Remember, you yell a warning, you're dead."
The soldier nodded. They lifted him to his feet. Nicholson twisted one arm behind his back and held it, and let him walk ahead. They passed up sure shots on two guards down the corridor as they turned left into another smaller hallway. At the end, they came to a door. The man motioned toward it.
"Get them to open it," Murdock whispered. "Say it in English."
The Kenyan nodded. The black man pounded on the door. "Open up, open up! Orders from the commander!"
Nothing happened. He pounded the door again and yelled the same words.
Again, nothing happened. "Red, go bring up Quinley. This is another metal door, probably an electric lock. We'll blow it."
Murdock heard some of the 4-A1 rifles firing from where they had been. Good, only fifty defenders. Much better odds.
Quinley came puffing up with his extra load of explosives. He looked at the metal door through his NVGs.
"Lock looks too tough. I'll hit it and the two hinges. Three shots of TNAZ. Get back around the corner when she blows." He worked on the door as he spoke. He put timer detonators in each of the three chunks of explosive, all set for ten seconds. He got the SEALs back, then pushed in each timer, activating all three, and sprinted for the corner and around it. He had his hands over his ears. The other SEALs did the same, as did the captured Kenyan soldier, who was still with them.
The three sharp explosions were magnified by the narrow spaces. The sound, and a pair of shock waves, roared through the tunnel-like passages. This time they sounded like three 155's going off in your clothes closet.
Red Nicholson was first around the corner with his stubby rifle set for automatic. The door had been blown off both hinges and had pivoted inside still connected to the twisted locking mechanism. A stunned dark-green-clad soldier came out waving a rifle. Nicholson blew him backwards with a three-round burst and charged in after him. The dead Kenyan was the only man in the control center.
The lights were all still out. There had to be a master switch somewhere. Murdock looked at the control panels. All of the labels and directions were written in Swahili and in English.
"Jaybird, find the right buttons and open the cell doors," Murdock said. Murdock left Ken Ching to back up Jaybird and deal with the captured Kenyan, and took the other five men with him toward the cell block. Just as they rounded the corner, a squad of six rangers opened fire. The SEALs jolted back.
Ronson let out a yelp and then gritted his teeth.
"Check him, Doc," Murdock said.
Ronson had taken a round through his right forearm. Doc rolled back his sleeve, and put a compress over it.
"Hold that tight while I get some supplies," he told Ronson.
"Oh, damn. What's that, an AK47 slug?" Ronson asked.
"Probably," Doc said. He pull
ed his pack around and took out some larger squares of gauze, and a short stretch bandage like an Ace. He sprinkled the wound with some antiseptic and healing powder, put on two new squares of gauze, and then wrapped it tightly with the stretch bandage and fastened it with a double-hook clip.
Murdock had been checking the aisle between the cells. He saw shooters on both sides, hugging the cells so any firing at them would endanger the sailors behind them. He pulled Magic Brown up.
"Do it. We need delicate hits. No misses into the prisoners. Those are our boys."
Magic tightened the sound suppressor on the short barrel of the new HK PSG1 high-precision sniper rifle, and went belly-down at the corner. He angled the muzzle around, and checked through the 6 x 42-power scope.
"Bastards are firing at sounds," Murdock said. "They can't see a damned thing."
Magic's sniper rifle coughed through the suppressor, and they heard a wail of pain down the corridor.
Magic took his time finding the next victim. One Kenyan lifted up and ran away from them. Magic slammed one quick round at him. Then, with his eye on the scope, Magic nailed the man with the second shot, smashing him to the concrete floor, where he didn't move.
A sudden clanging sounded, and two hundred cell doors rolled back all at once. Magic watched the men pour out of the cells. Half a dozen overwhelmed each of the Kenyan soldiers still alive in the alley between the cells. One AK-47 blasted, but then all was quiet.
"Hey, sailors," Murdock bellowed. "Who's in charge of this outfit?"
Murdock watched through his NVGs as a man worked through the sailors.
"That would be me, Lieutenant Commander Wilson Judd. My compliments on your quick action. Our Captain is KIA."
The officer came forward. He wore no rank on his dungarees. He saluted the shadow in front of him, and Murdock took his extended hand.
"Lieutenant Murdock, with the SEALS. Glad we could be of some service. Afraid the dance has just begun. Have your men get any weapons they can find from the ex-guards and the Kenyan military. We'll need them. You have any idea how to get out of this mousetrap?"
The commander laughed. "Not a fucking clue. Just glad to see another American. How is the ship?"
"Don't know. First order of business is to get you and your crew back to the Monroe."
"You've got a carrier offshore?"
"And a whole task force. You're important people to the Navy, Commander Judd."
Murdock touched his mike. "DeWitt. Any reason we can't go back the way we came in?"
"Considerable. We're still in the balcony seats. In the corridor behind us are at least twenty-five angry Kenyans who are howling and bellowing and firing down the corridor. How about a detour or an alternate route?"
"Working it. DeWitt, get your troops down here." Murdock looked around. "Where's Nicholson?"
Jaybird had joined the party. "He wandered off when the cell doors came open."
"He'll be back. You have any wounded, Commander Judd?"
"Three or four, all minor."
"Get them up here and let Doc look them over. We may have a couple of minutes before my scout gets back."
The commander passed the word, and soon Doc had three men to check out.
"You have any KIA, Commander?"
"One. One chief had been on the nervous side, and he mouthed off to one of the guards. The bastard shot the chief four times."
"Not sure we can take him out with us. Depends on the route. There should be a stretcher around here somewhere. I'll have my men with the goggles look for one. If we can't take him out, we'll damn well come back and get him."
Red Nicholson came up and touched Murdock's shoulder.
"Sir, found another corridor that isn't covered. Not sure where it goes, but it's on the first floor."
"Even if it goes out the front of this place, that's better than facing those guns back there," Murdock said. "Take three men and check it out, and leave one of them as a guide at each turn. Move out."
Murdock began getting the sailors into some kind of order. Four of the men had found AK-47s with some extra magazines. He put them at the end of the sailors to be a rear guard.
Commander Judd separated the 160 men into groups and had officers with each bunch. Murdock approved, and they moved out.
Commander Judd walked beside Murdock. "You wouldn't have an extra weapon, would you, Lieutenant? I feel naked."
Murdock unsnapped his Mark 23 pistol and gave it to the commander. "That's a forty-five auto with a real kick. Twelve rounds. Here are two spare magazines."
The commander thanked him, and they hurried down the corridor that Nicholson had found. At the first turn they picked up Ching. A tough-looking security gate there stood open. Evidently Jaybird had opened more than the cell doors in the control room.
At the second turn, they found Magic Brown. He still lugged the extra twenty pounds of the .50-caliber sniper rifle and ammo. Another security door had been swung flat against the wall.
Thirty yards down a dark corridor, they came to Red Nicholson, who was waiting. Murdock moved up beside him.
"Looks like we're working toward the front of the complex, L-T. Only trouble is we have a sandbagged machine gun set up on a tripod down there maybe fifty yards. He's got good protection. Doubt if our 223s or our NATO rounds would hurt him."
"How many men down there?"
"I've seen four. May be more. The weapon is aimed our direction like they know we're coming."
Murdock used his lip mike. "Magic Brown, get your bones up front. We need your talents."
Commander Judd eased up beside Murdock. "Problems?"
"One heavy machine gun and a whole shitpot full of sandbag protection."
Magic dropped beside Murdock. "You want the Fifty?"
"Amen." He told the black man the situation. He saw Magic grin in the darkness.
"No fucking problem, L-T." He pulled open the drag sack and unlimbered the big sniper rifle. A specially fabricated ten-round magazine was in place with the five-and-a-half-inch-long rounds.
"Sir?" Murdock said, looking at the full commander.
The officer nodded, and moved out of the way. Brown angled the big weapon around the corner with the bipod out front. He adjusted the Leupold Ultra MK4 16-power telescopic sight and settled in to take a shot.
Murdock moved the others back ten feet, and Magic Brown began doing his thing. His first round took out the man sitting behind the old-style .30-caliber heavy machine gun. Magic could only see half of his head and one shoulder. The round smashed through the Kenyan's left eye, and splattered half of his head down the corridor.
The booming sound of the .50-caliber round sounded like a 105 artillery round. Before the sound had echoed down the tunnel-like hallway, Brown had his second shot lined up. A foolhardy Kenyan had pushed his dead buddy out of the way and moved into the seat behind the weapon. This one looked around the side of the machine gun, and Magic fired again.
The perfect shot centered on the soldier's mouth, and blasted his head off his shoulders.
Half-a-dozen rifle rounds whistled past Magic, and he pulled back to the safety of the wall for a moment, then leaned around and worked the bolt quickly three times, slamming three chunks of hot lead from the magazine into the sandbags and anyone foolish enough to get in his way.
He paused a moment, then looked around the wall and checked his target through the scope. A dim glow back-lighted the position. Magic spotted one man working slowly back toward the light. The heavy .50-caliber round made him drop what he had been dragging, and blew the soldier a dozen feet down the hall and straight into any afterlife he might have.
"About it, L-T," Brown said.
Murdock motioned to Red, and the two of them aimed their weapons around the corner of the wall and sent full magazines of hot lead down the long corridor. "Let's go," Murdock said. He rounded the corner, and sprinted down the narrow hallway. He jumped over two sandbags, almost tripped over a body, and kept going with the First Squad of SEALs
right behind him.
Murdock stopped at the light they had seen. It was an overhead ventilation shaft of some kind. There was no way to get up to it. Murdock waved them past, and Red took the lead. They came to a section with half-a-dozen doors off the main stem. They ignored them and moved ahead, weapons ready.
A pair of corridor-wide swinging steel doors blocked their path. Red edged up to them, and pushed one in four inches so he could look through to the other side. Machine-gun fire blasted into the door but missed the inch-wide hole, and Red fell back swearing.
Murdock squirmed forward. "You hit?"
Red shook his head.
"Forties," Murdock said. Red nodded. Murdock used the mike and told Adams and Lampedusa to get up front and break out their 40mm rounds.
They worked it systematically. One man edged the door open far enough to get his M-4A1 through, then fired a half a magazine of .223 whizzers down the hall. Meanwhile, the next man pushed his weapon through below that, and fired an HE 40mm round. As the lower man loaded a new round, the top man fired the last half of his .223's from his magazine.
Then the lower man fired another grenade. They worked the ritual for six grenades. The last one was a Willy Peter phosphorous round that exploded with the impossible-to-put-out sticky phosphorus that could burn through anything but metal, including human bones and tissue.
No return firing had come after the second grenade.
Murdock held up his hand to stop the action. They waited. A groan came from in front of them. Murdock hoped that the WP smoke would drift out of the hallway ahead of them.
He nodded at Ron Holt, who lay on the floor, and Holt pushed one of the swinging doors open with his MP-5. There were no incoming rounds. Holt held the door open as the First Squad raced over him and into the hall half filled with smoke.
They heard no firing from the front. Red Nicholson ran through the smoke, past three dead Kenyans, and to a door that swung half open. Fresh air billowed through the door, and outside he could smell the green countryside of Kenya.
A minute later, Murdock edged the door open wider. A bright moon bathed the landscape. He wasn't sure where they were, but they were at an outside door.
"Holt, get your ass up front," Murdock said into the mike.
Seal Team Seven 6 - Battleground Page 10