The SEALs creeped forward. Gibbons dodged ahead six yards, passing Monkey, his thick finger resting lightly on the trigger mechanism of the MG-60. If they encountered an ambush, those in front would hit the dirt as he blasted the area.
H.J. brought up the rear. Her eyes darted from shadow to shadow as her finger rested light, but ready on the trigger. She licked her lips, which caused her to realize how dry her mouth was.
Twenty yards from where the curve broadened into a court yard, Duncan stopped as he saw men standing in front of the weatherworn structure that had one time been a jewel of the Algerian coast. He counted seven bodies scattered in awkward positions around the piazza, with an eighth draped across the low wall surrounding an overgrown fountain. Death was always awkwardly met.
A large man in Arab dress laughed nervously as he talked to a military type who Duncan figured was the senior officer. Surrounding the two men, the majority of the mixed group of Arab-dressed and military-garbed individuals argued and gestured with each other. Some listened to the two men, while three others trained their guns on a group near the truck. Two of the military men stood warily near the front door of the villa. From inside the villa the flickering of a lantern bubbled across the opening.
The large truck was not military. It had wooden sides, and Duncan assessed it to be a commercial vehicle. The faces of the prisoners were easily seen in light of the small campfire burning nearby. Duncan motioned H.J. forward.
The three prisoners squatted with their hands behind the backs of their necks. They leaned against the rear right truck wheel. Duncan saw the fear in the men’s faces. Two of the military-garbed men walked around the guards, grabbed a prisoner, and began to tie his hands behind him before roping the hands to the feet. Reminded Duncan of a pretzel.
Finished, they shoved the prisoner onto his side, and moved to the next. They continued until all three were trussed up in the same fashion. Then several of the Arabs picked the prisoners up and tossed them, unceremoniously, into the old dry fountain in the center of the courtyard, to be rewarded with grunts and low moans as their captives hit the concrete bottom. Lucky for the prisoners it was only a couple of feet deep and dry.
An elderly individual emerged from the villa with a suit coat draped across his arm, his opened white shirt half-tucked into dark trousers.
The man walked down the steps of the villa to where the huge Arab and the military leader talked. Dun can recognized the newcomer as President Alneuf from the photographs Commander Mulligan had shown him before they departed the Nassau.
Duncan waved Gibbons further left, knowing the petty officer would position himself to protect Duncan’s flank while covering those whom they were observing. He tugged H. J.“s shirt. She scampered forward.
“Stay here and cover me,” he whispered, holding his hand over his mouth to muffle the words.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“That’s Alneuf. The gentleman we’ve been tasked to bring back. Can’t think of a better way to find out if they’re friendly or not than go introduce myself.”
“I’d be careful, Captain. I don’t think they’re in any mood to take a chance. They may start shooting before you start talking.”
“Yeah, that’s my thoughts, too, but …”
Monkey gave a thumbs-up as he reached his position directly across the road from where Duncan and H.J. lay. Further left, past Monkey, Gibbons, in a prone position, trained his carbine on the crowd around the truck.
In this three-prong position, the SEAL squad had the entire group covered, able to deal out a deadly first fire if necessary. Without knowing for sure how the others were positioned, Duncan assumed that Beau and his squad had the left flank covered. The parked truck obscured their firing field, so it was up to Beau to take care of that vulnerability. Monkey’s weapon would nullify anyone seeking shelter between the truck and the house. It would be up to Beau’s squad to cover the blind side of the truck.
Duncan reached down and pressed the transmit button on his brick to activate the red light on Beau’s MX-300. Duncan hoped Beau was in position and saw it. He released the button.
“Well, here goes nothing,” Duncan whispered. He crawled forward another ten feet to distance himself from H.J. Her weapon pointed over Duncan’s head at the Algerians.
He stood and stepped into the middle of the road. Duncan raised his hands, holding his carbine aloft gripped tightly in his right hand.
“Hello, the house!” he shouted.
The sound, like a thousand crickets, filled the night as safeties clicked off and they leveled their weapons at him.
Duncan had this quick, fleeting recognition that if they had been any less professional, they would have shot him.
The mustached leader shoved Alneuf behind him, where two of the Guardsmen moved in front of the Algerian president. Yosef brought his weapon to bear on Duncan.
“President Alneuf,” Duncan announced in a loud voice. “I’m from the travel agent you phoned a couple nights ago.”
Duncan took several steps forward. A couple of the Guardsmen ran from the sides toward him with the intention of taking his gun.
“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Duncan said, holding the carbine aloft and out of reach of the shorter Guardsman, who reached for it.
“Leave him,” Colonel Yosef said, waving his men back.
Two more Palace Guards walked casually behind Duncan. Duncan, his weapon still above his head, walked slowly toward Colonel Yosef.
“Tell your men not to get nervous with their weapons, as I’m going to bring my hands down. My weapon will point away from President Alneuf while I bring it down, and once down it will point at the ground. I would appreciate it if you could reassure your men, uh, General?”
“Colonel. Colonel Yosef.”
“Roger, Colonel Yosef. If you would just reassure your men?”
Colonel Yosef nodded. “Most speak English. Just don’t make any unusual moves, please. And you are American, I presume?”
“I am Captain Duncan James, United States Navy. And you, Colonel Yosef?” he asked as he lowered his weapon.
“Captain Duncan, welcome to Algeria. I am Colonel Daoud Yosef, commanding officer of the Algerian National Palace Guards.”
“Colonel Yosef, my pleasure. I am here at the request of your president.” Duncan pointed to Alneuf, who stood silent behind the colonel. “We are answering a diplomatic request from the president of Algeria to provide transportation to a safe haven out of your country.”
He licked his dry lips. His head still hurt, but he forced himself to ignore it.
Yosef cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes, I am aware of President Alneuf’s request. He told me of it last night when you failed to keep your appointment.”
“I apologize for being late. As I am sure you are aware, we are having our own problems in Algiers.”
“Yes, I know,” Yosef replied, thinking of the truckload of Westerners he and his men had freed on their escape from the capital.
President Alneuf stepped around the two Guardsmen standing in front of him, and strolled forward to stand beside Yosef. He stuck his hand out to the tall U.S. Navy captain.
“Welcome to Algeria, Captain. We are pleased to see you,” Alneuf said as they shook hands. A broad grin accented his statement.
“Mr. President, we have transportation on the beach below.” Duncan looked at his watch. It showed two o’clock. “The primary transportation is due in an hour. We’ll need to leave soon to make our rendezvous.”
“Captain, where do you intend to take me?”
“Mr. President, my job is to get you out of the country. I have no idea where you go from there. I have been asked to relay from my government that the final destination is yours and to offer asylum in the United States if you so desire.”
“I appreciate the offer of your government, but I think I would like to go to Tunisia,” he said.
Duncan’s eyebrows raised slightly. “I’m sor
ry, Mr. President.
Algerian and Libyan forces invaded Tunisia two days ago. As of this morning it is under the occupation by those forces. If you are thinking of going to Morocco, I have to advise against that also as Morocco, like Algeria, is now in a state of rebellion. Let us get you out of the country and when aboard the Nassau …”
“Nassau! We are going to the Bahamas?” Yosef asked, interrupting Duncan.
“No, Colonel, not the Bahamas. The USS Nassau is the destination. The USS Nassau is an amphibious carrier off Algiers at this moment.”
Alneuf nodded.
Duncan looked around the area. “What happened here, Colonel?”
Yosef followed Duncan’s look around the area. “This was our second night and I am afraid we relaxed our vigilance too soon. We were making coffee when a truckful of revolutionaries drove up to the front of the villa. It was only luck that the brakes on the truck squealed as it stopped. Otherwise, the story you are seeing could have been quite different.”
“Yes, we heard the gunfire as we were coming up from the beach.” Yosef pointed to the fountain, where the three prisoners lay tied up like animals awaiting slaughter. Duncan wondered if the Algerians would shoot them before they left. He hoped he wouldn’t have to face that moral dilemma. Above the prisoners, one of Bashir’s relatives stood guard. Duncan saw the Arab grin as he poked the helpless prisoners with his Kalashnikov rifle. If they decided to execute those three prisoners, Duncan wanted to be far away when it happened.
“It seems that somehow the new government discovered we were at the old villa on the coast and sent a squad of their revolutionary guards to investigate,” explained Yosef. “From what little the prisoners have said, they were surprised to find themselves fighting Algerian Guardsmen. They thought we were some upper-class citizens fleeing the carnage and chaos in Algiers. They figured to find a bunch of frightened civilians up here.” He grinned. “Instead, much to their surprise, they stumbled on the only remaining Algerian soldiers in this area of the country. And those Algerian soldiers were the elite Palace Guard. Those eight won’t bother anyone again, and those three we’ll leave here and, if they’re lucky, they’ll be found before the insects drive them mad. Unfortunately, at least two escaped. We have two of Mr. Bashir’s relatives”-he pointed to the large Arab standing near them, who grinned and nodded at Duncan—“and one of my Guardsmen in pursuit. We should know soon if they were successful. If they catch them, then we should be safe for a while. If not, then we can expect additional company soon. It will depend on how fast the new Algerian Army reacts,” Yosef said, derision in his voice.
“I heard before we departed the USS Nassau that the rebels were mounting a big search east of Algiers, centered around a beached fishing boat that they believed President Alneuf had been on?”
“Yes, we were attacked by an aircraft. We were on our way to Tunisia when it surprised us. We barely beached the boat before it would have sunk. Mr. Bashir saw the battle, stopped along the highway, and thanks to his knowledge of the desert we avoided the rebels until tonight. For that, we owe him our lives.”
“And I fed them, too,” Bashir added as he walked up behind Colonel Yosef.
“Well, your adversaries were still searching that location twenty-four hours ago,” Duncan said.
“You said, ‘we,” Captain,” Yosef continued. “How many are there of you and where are they, if I may ask?”
Duncan turned his head. “Come on out, Beau, H. J.”
H.J. and Gibbons emerged from the bushes to stand behind the two Guardsmen who were standing behind Duncan. From the front of the truck, Beau, Chief Judiah, and Ensign Helli well emerged.
“Very good, Captain,” said Yosef. He snapped his fingers twice.
From behind H.J. two Guardsmen rose from the bushes, their weapons trained on her and Gibbons. Behind Beau another group of three appeared from the shadows.
“Very good, Colonel,” said Duncan. He raised his hand. “Monkey! Mcdonald!”
Monkey and Mcdonald stepped out behind the five Guardsmen. Their machine guns pointed forward.
Yosef raised his hands and motioned the Guardsmen forward. They moved in front of the SEALs and joined their comrades.
“Touche, Captain,” Yosef said admiringly. He grinned. “I guess it is true what they say about your Navy SEALs.”
“I wouldn’t know, Colonel. I never listen to rumors.”
The two shook hands, satisfied they had earned each other’s respect.
A cell phone rang, breaking the momentary silence. Bashir frantically patted the numerous pockets of his outfit. Finally, he grinned as his hand touched the telephone. Bashir turned his back to the group and walked away as he answered it. His deep bass voice, speaking a Bedouin dialect, carried through the compound.
“Captain, some of these people must leave with me,” said Alneuf.
“Colonel Yosef and his men must come. I cannot leave them behind. It would be unconscionable; a de facto condemnation to certain death. Mr. Bashir, who is on the phone, refuses to leave. He argues that his group will meld safely back into the population without anyone discovering their assistance to me. I pray that he is right.”
“How many are we talking, Colonel?”
“I have eleven men, myself, and the President.” “Thirteen,” Duncan said aloud.
Yosef’s twelve and Duncan’s eight made twenty for the two eight-man boats. President Alneuf made twenty-one. It would be tight, but they could do it. His team could hold onto the sides or swim independently as they moved out. They were only taking one civilian. The colonel’s men were professionals like the SEALs. Unfortunately, they were soldiers. Hope they can swim.
Bashir flipped the phone closed. “Colonel, we have company coming. At least two trucks full of rebels. My nephews tried to catch the ones who escaped, but they must have had a radio or a telephone in their truck. My nephews are heading this way and coming fast. The soldiers are about two kilometers behind them, and my nephews are five kilometers from here. We have less than ten minutes before they arrive.”
Duncan looked at his watch. “It’s another hour before our transportation arrives.”
“We have no choice, Captain,” Colonel Yosef said urgently. “Two truckloads can be more than fifty men. I do not have the arms or the men to fight them, and even if we did, as soon as they suspect that President Alneuf is here, they’d have helicopters and aircraft overhead before first light. We have to go.”
“Is there someplace we can hold up for thirty minutes until we get out to sea?”
“That won’t help, Captain. What if we get out to sea and your transportation is not there? What then?”
“What do you suggest, Colonel?” Duncan asked as his mind quickly weighed the pros and cons of the situation. Suddenly, the insides of the USS Albany seemed very attractive.
“We leave,” Yosef said.
Then the colonel shouted, “Quick, everyone into the track. Hurry.”
Turning to Duncan, he said, “We’ll head west toward Bashir’s village.
There, we can get a boat and head out to sea. Can you make other transportation arrangements?” Yosef asked anxiously.
“Probably, but if we hurry we can get out to sea before they arrive,” Duncan suggested again. “We have rubber boats on the beach and we can go wait offshore a couple of miles for the rendezvous. They’ll be there.”
“Captain, I appreciate what you are doing, but as I said, you can’t be sure that your transportation will be there.” “You’re a soldier, Colonel. The plan says they’ll be there. If not, we’ll just …” His voice trailed off.
“If they’re not there, Captain, then we will be what you Americans call, shitting ducks!”
“Sitting ducks,” Duncan corrected. “We may be sitting ducks, but I have strong confidence the submarine will be there.”
offshore, the USS albany turned away from the coast. The Marconi radar detected earlier by the electronic warfare system had turned out to be an Algerian coastal
patrol boat. Unknown to the American Navy, Algeria had been maintaining a nighttime maritime patrol along the coast to complement the helicopters flying the same surveillance during the day.
The EW antenna on the periscope showed the Marconi loitering in the rendezvous area. USS Albany continued, reluctantly, to move away from the area even as Jew ell developed a firing solution on the craft. At six thousand yards it’d be like shooting fish in a barrel. However, torpedoing the ship would alert everyone up and down the coast and endanger the SEALs ashore. It was also against the Rules of Engagement promulgated by Sixth Fleet. He lowered the periscope and ordered a new depth. The submarine descended as it headed further out to deeper waters to hunt Kilos until it returned for the second rendezvous at midnight, twenty-one hours away.
* * *
The Algerian coastal patrol craft loaded its cannon and fired. Ashore, Duncan continued his attempt to convince Colonel Yosef and President Alneuf to come with them. If they went east on the trucks, Duncan would take his teams back out to the rendezvous place. He did not intend to head out into Algeria with Yosef.
“But, Colonel,” Duncan began, stopping in mid-sentence as the familiar whistle of an inbound artillery shell reached his ears.
“Take cover!” Duncan shouted. “Incoming!” He dove to the side, rolled once, and came up against the aged fountain. Looking back, he saw Colonel Yosef staring at him.
“Incoming!” he shouted again, pointing upward to the colonel, who gave Duncan a puzzled look that changed to recognition.
The intensity of the whistling grew. Colonel Yosef pushed Alneuf to the ground and threw himself over the president.
“Get down!” Yosef shouted.
The Algerians joined the Navy SEALs hugging the ground as the first shell hit the house, blowing the roof apart.
Pieces of red clay tile and dry stucco rained down on them, followed by a choking cloud of red dust.
Colonel Yosef jumped up, pulling President Alneuf with him. “Quick, into the trucks, everyone.”
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