Sgt Dailey got everyone’s attention, then passed “Now!” over the squad net. Cpl Salazar’s team didn’t hesitate. The four Marines rushed forward, PFC Rivera hitting the door with his shoulder, smashing it open with one blow. The rest of the squad, along with Burke, immediately followed. A single shot registered, coming from down the street. Burke didn’t waste time looking back, but the fact that it was only one shot was pretty indicative that Issac had been on target.
He rushed from the sunshine into the darkened room. A Somali woman was backed up against a wall, her fear almost palpable. She said nothing, merely motioned with her hands upstairs. Sgt Dailey told two Marines to guard here, then the rest rushed to the small stairway.
The stairs were only wide enough for one Marine at a time. Thoughts of Horatio at the Bridge flitted across his thoughts. He hoped the Somalis were not students of Greek history.
A door barred the way at the top of the stairs. PFC Rivera had been able to take a running start at the front door. Here, the cramped quarters and the incline kept the Marines at bay for a bit. They had to kick at the door five or six times before the hinges gave way.
Chapter 26
Hobyo
Asad was nervous. No, scared, to be truthful. He couldn’t understand why he was left alone, why not even one person was left to help him. He had spent the last 30 minutes pacing the room, even climbing up to look out the window to see what he could see. When the American Black Hawk flew by again, he looked out again and could almost touch the soldier manning a huge machine gun, a gun that seemed to be pointing right at him.
The next fifteen minutes had been almost unbearable. He kept expecting the Black Hawk to come back. He knew his fellow Somalis had taken them down before, but after seeing one close up, he couldn’t imagine how.
Were the Americans coming? he wondered for the umpteenth time.
He looked back at his prisoners. Bong was sitting, a slight smile on his face. The Filipino crewman was enjoying his agitation. Craig was also awake now, silently watching him as he paced.
He pointed his AK at Bong, but the expression on the man never wavered. He was either very brave, Asad conceded, or just very confident that the Americans would rescue him.
He had two calls come in, checking on the situation. During the second call, he had asked Taban to send someone to help. Taban told him there would be hundreds of men there soon, so just to hold out. He hoped he would last that long.
He had just about convinced himself that nothing would happen when he heard a commotion in the street below. He rushed over to the window and looked out as a single shot rang out and a huge crash sounded from downstairs. He caught a glimpse of uniforms rushing to his building, and voices rang out below him.
His heart fell. He knew the Americans had arrived.
And he knew his duty.
He slowly turned to Craig and Bong. Who first? Well, since it was the Americans who would kill him, he should kill the American first. He walked up to Craig and raised his AK. Bong cried out something in his language, but Asad ignored him. His finger tightened on the trigger.
Craig merely looked him back eye-to-eye. No fear, no anger. He almost had a look for forgiveness. The muzzle of his AK wavered. Then the pounding of feet sounded as the soldiers below came up the stairs. There was a crash as one or more of them hit the door, the door that could keep him safe for only a few more moments.
He knew his life was over. And he knew it was his duty to take these two men with him, to teach the Americans a lesson. He was Asad the Lion. He had the blood of warriors in his veins. He could do it.
With renewed determination, he raised his rifle, the muzzle unwavering a half a meter from those unblinking eyes. He wished this Craig man would show some fear, even some anger. Not this forgiveness. Who was he, someone who came and took Somali resources, who kept Somali children hungry, to forgive him?
A sense of righteous anger filled him for a moment as his fingers tightened on the trigger once more as additional crashes sounded against the door. And just as quickly, that anger dissipated like a small whirlwind in the desert dust. He knew what he had been told about foreigners, and maybe it was true. But that was not Craig, not Bong. These were just two men trying to make a living, trying to go from one place to another. If some people were raping Somali resources, Asad knew that these two were not guilty. They were innocent, and the Quran forbid the killing of the innocent. Asad was not overly religious, but some things were just evident.
He sighed and stepped back just as the door crashed open and soldiers rushed in. Instinctively, he raised his AK.
Chapter 27
Hobyo
SSgt Davidson was the second one into the dark room that took up the entire top floor of the building. Almost immediately, he took in the two men chained to a bolt on the floor and the local, a young-looking man, but armed and raising his AK. Burke started to raise his own M4 as one of the chained men lunged to grab the Somali.
The stupid fool’s going to get shot, he thought as he maneuvered for a shot to take out the Somali while missing the well-meaning but foolish Filipino. LCpl Torino was beside him, also trying to get in a shot.
The pirate twisted, and the Filipino, still yelling, reached the end of his chain, and the two were separated. This was his chance.
He just started to squeeze the trigger when an authoritarian voice called out “Cease fire, cease fire!”
That registered despite his excitement. Too many hours on the range made that almost instinctual. He looked about in confusion until he recognized that the command to cease fire came from PFC Rivera. The young Marine was rushing forward to impose himself between the rest of the Marines pouring into the room and the pirate, who was now cowering on the floor.
It was only then that he realized that the Filipino prisoner, Mr. Benedicto, was shouting at them as well, telling them not to shoot.
“Hold your fire,” he told everyone, a little needlessly, to be sure.
He turned to the heavyset American still lying on a blanket on the floor.
“Mr. Murphy? Mr. Craig Murphy?” he asked.
The man didn’t say anything, but merely nodded.
Burke switched to the squad command circuit.
“We’ve got them. Both of them,” he told Lt Niimoto, proper radio procedures be damned.
Chapter 28
Hobyo
Maslax put down his Samsung and started calculating. He knew his Samsung was probably a Chinese clone, but maybe that was better when going online on the Chinese-installed network. While most of the world had been connected to the internet for years, Hobyo had only gone wireless less than a year ago. And as Maslax worked with information, he had immediately gotten connected.
He had gotten up early this morning and was down at his favorite shop sipping shah adays when the American aircraft had appeared. Everyone else had quickly disappeared, but as far as he knew, the Americans didn’t want him, so he stayed at his table, sipping the tea.
He had counted six Black Hawks, their unmistakable silhouette familiar to most Somalis, and two of the wasp-like shapes of Apaches. He hadn’t recognized the three other aircraft, so he had pulled out his Samsung and done a net search. It hadn’t taken him long to discover they were called “Ospreys,” and that they were used by the US Navy, Air Force, and Marines, as well as by the Indonesians, Chileans, Spanish, and Koreans. As he didn’t know of any Indonesian, Chilean, Spanish, or Korean hostages about, that left the Americans.
He got caught up in some of the technical aspects of how the plane could shift its propellers upwards to then act as a helicopter. This looked to be a pretty technological achievement, he had to admit. He looked up the troop-carrying capacity and did his calculations.
From what was listed online, he figured that there were anywhere from 160-180 American Rangers now in Hobyo. With more than 25,000 people in the city, it might seem that the small number of Rangers could be easily overwhelmed, but despite what some people believed, The Battle o
f the Rangers showed that they had teeth, and many more Somalis had been killed in driving the Rangers back to their camp. Maslax figured it was better to just let the Americans get their hostages and get out so things could get back to normal.
The fact that this rescue operation was occurring was probably due to his own actions was not lost on him. He smiled as he sipped his tea, wondering what would happen if some of his more militant fellow citizens knew of his part in things. He had been well paid by the Chinese, but he was not stupid enough to flash that money around. It was hidden back in his home, and even his wife didn’t know about it. He would slowly ease bits of the cash out as time went on.
One of the big Ospreys flew directly overhead as it headed back out to sea. Maslax could read the “U.S. MARINES” on the sides of the plane. That made him bring up his Samsung again. He couldn’t speak English, but he could enter the letters in Google. He re-read the Somali-language Wiki article on the Osprey, and there was the mention of the Marines again. He hit on that link, then came to a long article on them.
What he read was new to him. To Maslax, as with most Somalis, American soldiers were all Rangers. That was just the generic name for them. From what he had read, the Marines were a separate service with a much longer history. They had fought all over the world and in many wars until they had been mostly disbanded and were only now being brought back up to strength. Why the Americans needed separate armies was not explained in the article, but to Maslax, it didn’t really matter. Rangers, Marines, whatever. They were Americans, and they wanted to get their hostage back. It might seem like a huge waste of time, effort, and money to rescue one man, but who knows how foreigners thought?
He ordered another glass of shah adays. This was probably as good a spot as any to take in whatever was going to happen. There hadn’t been explosions or obvious sounds of fighting, so it was probably relatively safe, and if the Americans decided to bomb Hobyo, then his small house was not going to offer any protection.
When the Americans had first flown over, people had scattered and disappeared indoors. Now, with no huge war taking place, people were starting to come out and gather in groups. Cell phones were in open use. He knew his wife would be calling him if she had a phone, but since she didn’t, his phone remained mercifully quiet.
There was an open area directly across from the dock, about a block away from where he sat. In the evenings, men would gather there to play shax, drink tea, and socialize. Now, men were gathering there. It wasn’t long before most of the men’s attention seemed focused on one-armed man who seemed to be stirring them up. They were too far from his middle-aged eyes for Maslax to recognize the speaker, but it wasn’t long before the other men began to chant. Many of them had weapons, and they were thrusting them over their heads.
When the crowd, which had by then grown to maybe 100-150 men, started marching out, Maslax was torn. He knew he should stay put. Nothing was going to happen to him here, and he could enjoy his tea. But Maslax was cursed with an undying sense of curiosity. His wife told him he was worse than a cat, poking his nose into everything.
Maslax was not going to get into a fight with the Americans, but whatever was going to happen was certainly different from the routine. Maslax could not just sit there and not know what was going on. He paid for his tea, then got up and walked over to the mob. It was going to be an interesting morning.
Chapter 29
Hobyo
2dLt Tony Niimoto put down the handset and looked towards his platoon sergeant.
“OK, here’s what we’re going to do. Captain Svenson says we’ve all got orders to get out of here as soon as possible and back to the ships. We’re going to get the hostages out first, then we’ll follow. I told them Mr. Murphy is in pretty bad shape, so they’re going to take him off the roof right here. It’s going to be one of the Army Black Hawks, and they don’t have litters like the Navy Sea Hawks, but the Black Hawks are still here on station while the Navy ships are still 50 miles out. So the Black Hawk’s going to come down to the roof, put one wheel on the edge, and we’ve got to get Mr. Murphy on it. I want you to go up there and make sure there’re no wires or anything up there that’ll cause a problem. We’ll put Mr. Benedicto on it, too, along with Doc Supchak and the first of our Marines to go back.”
“Aye-aye, sir, but do you think it’s a good idea to put Doc Supchak on the bird first? I mean, this whole situation could still blow up in our faces.”
Tony thought about that for a moment before calling over the corpsman from where he was tending to Mr. Murphy.
“Doc, how is he?”
“Not too good,” he told his platoon commander, glancing back at the Chief Mate before lowering his voice. “Look sir, I don’t know if he’s going to make it. That infection is as nasty as I’ve ever seen, and it’s in his system now. I’ve given him antibiotics, but there’s not much else I can do for him. He’s got to get back to the Gaffert’s sickbay, then maybe back to Landstuhl ASAP.”
“Does it make sense for you to ride back with him on the first bird?”
“Not really. I can’t do anything for him now, and to be honest, I don’t want to get stuck on the Gaffert. Who knows when I can hitch a ride back to the Dunham?”
“Oh, good point. I guess I assumed that the flight would go back to the Dunham, but if you say Mr. Murphy’s got to go back to the Gaffert, well, maybe I need to rethink that.”
He turned back to SSgt Davidson.
“OK, I guess you were right. We’ll put the two hostages on the Black Hawk, and I’ll let the skipper know it has to go back to the Gaffert instead. And don’t put any of our Marines on it. I don’t want them stuck on the Gaffert.” He looked at his watch. “We’ve got about 10 minutes before the pick-up, so let’s get going. After that, we’ll head back to Elena and re-embark as per our original order.”
“What about our prisoner?” asked SSgt Davidson.
They both looked over to where their translator was speaking to the young man.
“The skipper says keep him bound until we leave, then let him go. He could’ve killed the hostages, but chose not to, and Mr. Benedicto vouches for him.”
Chapter 30
Hobyo
Asad finally accepted that the Americans were not going to kill him and was starting to relax. His hands were still bound in back of him, but no one was mistreating him. No one was beating him as his own people had beat Bong. He knew, though, that without Bong’s interceding, he would be a corpse right now. He wondered why the hostage had done that. Why had he saved him? It didn’t make sense.
Only Bong was not a hostage now. He was.
He turned to Ali Bile, the Somali interpreter working with the Americans.
“Why do you work with them?’ he asked.
Ali shrugged. “The pay’s good,” he simply said.
“But, they come to rape our land, to take our resources.”
Ali gave him a condescending smile. “Do you really believe that?”
“Well, sure. We are the badaadinta badah, right?”
“’Saviors of the Sea?’ Really? Those who take these ships are criminal, pirates, just as the foreigners accuse. Money is the goal, plain and simple.”
“Bah. How would you know?” Asad asked the older man.
Ali let out a loud laugh, which drew the attention of the Rangers in the room.
“How do I know? Because I was a pirate. I helped take three ships. And I gladly took the ransom money.”
“So how did you end up with the Rangers, then?”
“Rangers? Not all Americans are Rangers. These are what they call ‘Marines.’ But no matter. I realized what we were doing was wrong, against the Quran. Look, what was the ship you took doing? Was it fishing our waters? Was it taking our resources?”
“No. Not this one. But some do, right?”
“No, the Americans, the Russians, the British, the Chinese, they don’t fish here. These are not Ethiopians, not even Indian who sometimes fish here. They are just going
from one place to another. We stop them for money and money alone. Look,” he said, as he sidled a bit closer. “Why didn’t you kill the two hostages. Surely that was your orders.”
Asad looked down, not able to meet the older man’s eyes.
“Because, they had done nothing wrong. I could not kill innocent men.”
“So you already knew the answer. You knew that to do so was wrong. So why do you ask me?”
Asad didn’t respond.
“These Americans are something of barbarians. They have superb technology. They can do many things. But their spirit is not as strong as ours. They are loud. They drink. Sometimes they allow women to boss them. But they are also like children, easy to laugh and enjoy life. Yes, I take their pay, but they treat me like an equal.”
He waited a moment before continuing, changing tack.
“And what about you, Asad Farah? What will you do after this?”
“After this? If the Rangers let me? I will go home, I think.”
“And your people? Your clan? What will they think, what will they do now that you failed in your mission? That you failed to kill your prisoners?”
His heart dropped. This question had been hovering around in the back of his mind, a question he had refused to acknowledge. But now, he was forced to confront it.
“You may be a northern man, but I think you know. I’m sure it’s the same with your clan. At best, I’ll be exiled. At worst . . .” he left that unspoken.
The Return of the Marines Trilogy Page 38