Cody's Army

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Cody's Army Page 19

by Jim Case


  Damn it! He should have stood up and protested! He should have taken over where Tom left off, bitching about no food and no cots and blankets. He should be the one looking out for the passengers!

  Jenks huddled lower on the cot, pulled a blanket up around him and tried to relax. He kept shivering. Again and again and again he saw the nails driven right through Tom’s hands! He could feel the steel piercing flesh! He could feel the ring of the hammer on the steel spike! He could hear again the rending scream by Tom!

  When the knife had plunged into Tom’s side, Jenks had fallen to one side, thinking for a moment that he himself had been knifed. The real pain of it shot through the co-pilot, and even as he watched his commander dying, the sensation billowed through him, touched him, changed him into a coward.

  He had admitted to the word. He was a coward. He could only tremble, and slide lower on the cot, pulling the blanket up over his head so no one could see him shaking. Tom Ward was a hero; Jenks was a coward.

  In another room in the center wing, Sharon stood in front of a desk and quietly told Farouk what they needed.

  “Our first problem is Mrs. Vereen. She’s been a heart patient, and it looks like she’s about ready to have another heart attack. Her pulse rate is too high, and I’m sure her blood pressure has skyrocketed. She needs to see a doctor—tonight if possible.

  “There’s a small town nearby; could I take her there to see a doctor? She should stay, but I promise that I will come back with your guard and not make any trouble.”

  Farouk Hassan watched the woman in front of him. She was pretty rather than beautiful. She did not have big tsaydes, like many American women, and she did not dress to attract attention. She would be good in bed, he could tell. He pushed his thoughts off sex and concentrated on what she was saying. When she finished he shook his head.

  “No, she can’t go to a doctor. There is no doctor in the village who could help her. She would have to be driven back to Beirut, and I can’t spare the two men and the vehicle. She must take her chances along with the rest of you.”

  “Mr. Hassan, with her it is not a ‘chance.’ If she has another heart attack here, she will die. The odds are good that she will suffer another attack unless she has medication to prevent it. Any doctor could give that drug to her.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Adamson. It is impossible.”

  “You are condemning her to death.”

  “Whatever is the will of Allah.”

  For a moment Sharon wanted to scream at him. He was hiding behind his religion. Whatever he did was for the glory of Allah. Whatever happened must be the will of Allah or the god would never let it happen. Rubbish!

  She trembled for a moment, working to control her anger. At last she folded her arms in front of her in a basic body language of defiance and stared hard at the man.

  “You must have a wife, a family. Are they well? What would you do if they were threatened? Attack, kill, destroy? These people on this plane are my family. They are my responsibility. Perhaps I should follow your example. When my family is in danger I will protect each one. I will attack, kill, and destroy. How can you object if I follow your own rules?”

  “You made up the rules, Miss Adamson. Even so, they are rules for the hostage keepers, not for you. Any more complaints?”

  “Yes, we need more cots, more blankets, and a humane supply of good food. We are not animals in a cage. We must be fed.”

  Farouk shook his head in dismay. “Miss Adamson, why do you continue to do this? You saw that we chose Captain Ward for the next execution victim when he kept protesting. Doesn’t that make any difference to you?”

  “None whatsoever. If we’re out of coffee on board I yell at the captain and the head attendant. If we’re short on beds and food here I yell at the head man, you. Whatever happens to me, happens. I’m a little bit of a fatalist. But you can bet that I’m going to fight and claw and scrap to the last fraction of a second if it comes down to saving the lives of my passengers. What I won’t do is crawl, especially not to a coldblooded murderer like you.”

  Farouk sighed. He motioned for an armed guard to bring in his second in command, Abdel Khaled.

  Abdel came in and glanced up and down at Sharon. He smiled.

  “Has she decided to be nice to us yet, Farouk?”

  “Unfortunately, no. She wants more blankets, but she has not once offered to take off her blouse and her skirt to help get covers or more food for her charges.”

  “If I thought it would have worked, that would have been my first ploy,” Sharon said. “The problem is, you don’t have enough supplies here for your own men, let alone another hundred and thirty of us. Logistics is the word in English; it means supplying the troops and supporting units. You are a lousy soldier.”

  “How would you know that, soft woman?”

  “I know. I grew up on army posts all around the world. I can shoot a .38 or a 1911-issue .45 automatic better than you can. So don’t underestimate me. I’m fighting for my passengers and their right to life. Compare that to your gonad logic and see where you get”

  Abdel looked at Farouk. “Gonad logic?”

  “Balls; gonads. She means sex.” Farouk looked out the window a moment, then waved at the guards. “Get her out of here, no wait. Bring in Hallah. He’s young enough to enjoy it.”

  Hallah came in the door of the room with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He had not shaved since the takeover. His hair was uncombed.

  “Hallah. I have a small job for you. Miss Adamson has been naughty again. She keeps stirring up the hostages and complaining. I think it would be better if she were locked in a different room. Perhaps you could share your locked room with her, yes?”

  Hallah grinned. “She must be punished, that is true. I’ll sacrifice and keep her in my room. To punish her.”

  “Yes, yes, now get her out of here. 1 don’t want her bothering me again.”

  Hallah grabbed Sharon by the wrist and strode toward the door.

  He pulled her out the door and down the hall. Two armed guards followed closely. They went along another corridor, up a flight of stairs, and then into a master bedroom that must have belonged to the owner.

  It was over thirty feet square, with a huge bed in one corner, exercise equipment in another corner, and a Western-style wooden hot tub in a third. Steam came from the water in the tub.

  She heard him say something to the guards on the door, who laughed and walked away. Hallah closed the door, locked it and put the key in his pocket.

  She stood in the center of the room. Someone had spent a fortune furnishing this place. It was gorgeous, and she had been brought here to be raped. She had a few tricks she learned in the steady stream of self defense and karate classes her mother insisted she take as soon as she started going out with boys who shaved.

  He came up behind her softly, but she heard him. It was where she wanted him. He grabbed her from behind around the waist, missing her arms. She powered her right elbow backward, smashing into his sternum and bringing a shout of pain and surprise. He let go of her but she slammed another elbow behind her, hitting just below his rib cage and bringing a gush of air from his lungs as he bent over.

  Sharon spun around, saw his surprise and how he was starting to lift his hands. She kicked with all her might. Her “sensible” shoes for walking whistled upward, grazed his thigh and then jolted into his genitals. The stiff shoe leather blasted one testicle north, smashing it into a shattered pulp against his pelvic bone and bringing a shriek of pain from Hallah.

  The youth went down in a writhing mass on the floor. Sharon dove on top of him, searching him for a gun, a knife. She found his knife first, a curved dagger, and just as she had been taught, she struck before she had time to talk herself out of it. She fisted the blade’s handle, lifted the knife, and drove it downward into Hallah’s chest.

  Again and again she pulled the blade free and powered it down into his chest. The first stab grazed his lung and grated against a rib before it
penetrated farther. The second time the blade slid between ribs clearly, sliced into Hallah’s heart and killed him instantly. The third stab was not needed.

  She pushed back from him and saw his eyes staring vacantly. She checked for a pulse beside his Adam’s apple but found none.

  Hallah was dead.

  She almost threw up. She gagged and rolled away. Tears cascaded from her eyes. She had killed him! She had to beat it down. Later she could react.

  She searched him thoroughly, found a thirty-eight-caliber revolver and two fast loads, fifteen shots. He also carried a derringer, a small two-shot, smaller-bore weapon that was loaded. She put the derringer and the cleaned-off knife in one of the practical yet concealed pockets of the stewardess skirt she had been wearing when they were hijacked.

  The thirty-eight she kept in her hand. She found the key to the door in his pocket and quietly unlocked the panel. When she peered out through a thin slit, she saw that there was no guard on her door, and none down the long hallway. Hallah must have sent them away when he talked to them.

  Plan—she had to plan before she did anything. She had a knife and two guns. That should help her get some more weapons. She had fired a submachine gun on the range. She knew how to keep the muzzle down so it didn’t climb during a ten-shot burst. She wanted an SMG right now, but first she had to find one, or more. She would work her way to the rooms where the men were held. On the way she hoped she could liberate more weapons.

  She had warned Farouk that she had been an Army brat, but that must have meant nothing to him. Hallah had used the most common attack approach on women. For weeks they had been taught how to get free. The course had not instructed her how to kill her attacker. Her army colonel father had taught her that, emphasizing the mental attitude as well as the ability to use a knife and a gun. She was glad he had taken the time to train her.

  Sharon peeked out the door again.

  It was time to move.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  Gorman paced up and down in front of a full colonel who leaned back, relaxed, at his desk.

  “Why the hell don’t they check in?” he demanded, not expecting an answer. “They need to check in and be sure the damn radio net works. Then we’ll know if and when we need it.”

  The Israeli colonel watched his ally, then sipped on ice water. He was a veteran of the Entebbe raid by Israeli air units which had rescued passengers held by Arabs.

  The two men were at a moderate-sized Israeli air base near Haifa in the northern part of Israel. The base was only seventy-five miles from Beirut.

  “I can’t get over how close everything is out here,” Gorman said. “I drive a lot in Texas and Montana, and you can race along at eighty miles an hour all day and hardly get out of a county, let alone leave a state. Here a hundred miles and you violate the air space of six sovereign nations.”

  “Relax, Mr. Gorman. They think they are in control. When terrorists believe that, I always smile, because I know they are not. They are defense, I am offense. Just like in your American football, the offense always has the advantage.” “Sure as hell hope so.”

  “We’re covered, Gorman. You have a hundred and thirty personnel to move. I have Chinook helicopters, CH-47s, that can take out forty-four fully armed troopers. That means at least fifty civilians can be loaded on each one. We’ve fighter escort, no problem there.

  “We go in with five Chinooks, just in case we lose one on the way in. We could smash up two Chinooks and still have enough moving power to get our people out. This is not like that thousand-mile-over-the-desert fiasco you people got into before over here.”

  “So damn many things can go wrong, Colonel.”

  “Your people thought of that. We’re sending three Cobra gunships, fully loaded, for support. Those sweethearts have two six-packs in each bird, one out each side door.

  “Remember that those babies fire 5.56mm slugs at four thousand rounds a minute out of six rotating barrels. Like the old Gatling gun. They can plough up the damn ground. Besides those, the six pack, each Cobra has an automatic 40mm grenade launcher and a variety of air-to-ground missiles it can fire.”

  “Sure, except we don’t have a clue where Cody is or even if he’s found the hostages!”

  “We monitored that radio check he made with Rufe Murphy. He said: ‘Moving on target, hope to have your support come daylight.’ So he’s on-site and getting ready for his daylight attack.”

  “Four men against an army? I knew we handled this all wrong. Let’s make a radio-net check. Cody’s receiver will be off if he’s on a silent attack. But has to leave his on to monitor anything from Cody. Let’s try it.”

  They went to the radio room and sent the call.

  “Hunter, this is the Fox. Please respond.”

  There was no reply. The colonel took the mike and tried it again. This time an answer came through loud and clear.

  “Foxy, what’s happening? The hunter is in position, working into site. Except a call around 04:00. Out, I will relay it on to you. Confirm. Out.”

  “Confirm, Fox; out,” the Israeli colonel said.

  Gorman was not convinced. “Yeah, sure, it sounds good. But Murphy is laying back a mile or two with the bird.

  He’s not even with Cody right now. How do we know Cody’s making progress? And the damn time is winding down. We’re well into the second twenty-four-hours now. So help me if that bastard Cody fucks up again, I’m gonna kill him for sure!”

  The colonel went to the small refrigerator in his office on the air base and took out two cold beers. “Once we get Murphy’s or Cody’s call for assistance, we can have jet fighters overhead in or around Beirut in six minutes, from scramble to first flyby. The choppers will take a little more time to get there, but it’s only seventy-five miles. Closer if the terrorists brought the hostages to the south somewhere.”

  “Yeah, I know, I know. Why did it have to be Cody leading the operation? I just plain don’t trust that sucker.” He snapped on a TV set in the office. “Guess I’ll have to live with it until I can take care of the matter personally.”

  “From what I’ve heard, he’s almost a one-man army himself when he gets charged up. He’ll probably go through those Palestine Liberation Guerrilla Force fighters like a saber through marshmallow cream.”

  “Sure,” Gorman snarled. “And I’m sitting here with my bare ass hanging out, and the hell of it is, I lose either way!”

  Cody and Caine kept well away from the stream light the Shiite guard carried to the shed. Soon they heard the generator fire over and chug along before the doors to the building were closed. Two of the guards remained on the generator, and the big shot marched back to the mansion and went inside. He hadn’t noticed any missing guards.

  Waiting is often the hardest part of any operation. Caine and Cody stood it until it was a little after 3 A.M. Then they each made a sweep around the area where the exterior guards should have been posted.

  Cody found the first leaning against a tree, sleeping. His razor slashed, and the PLG Force soldier would sleep forever.

  He met Caine at the arranged spot just beyond the motor pool. They retreated to their observation post behind the mansion.

  “Found only one sentry out there, sleeping like a baby,” the Brit reported. “I dispatched the chap with extreme prejudice.”

  “You have your keyboard for the C-5? I think we’ll introduce these bums to real war before they know we’re here. Sun should be up about five or so. At four-thirty we start the show by detonating the charges. The barracks first, so we can close out the dance card on half of Farouk’s troops. Then blow the office and then the others.”

  “How do we liberate the mansion? I’d guess you don’t want to blow the place apart.”

  “We eliminate all opposition outside the house, then we figure out how to get inside and rescue our people.”

  Sharon stepped into the hallway of the second floor of what she figured was the central part of the mansion. She locked th
e door behind her, since that could slow down anyone finding Hallah’s body. She moved down the hallway slowly, but at a normal-appearing walk. She had waited until nearly 3 A.M. to start her move.

  Most of the guards should be sleeping by now. She took the knife from her skirt pocket. She would use it if she could. It would do no good to be discovered before she could get to the men’s rooms.

  She changed tactics and ran lightly down the second-floor hall. Most of the men were in the west wing, the women in the east. She came to the west wing and began trying the doors. All were locked here. Ahead she saw a man sitting in a chair and leaning on a table. His back was to her.

  Guard! She moved slower now, making no noise at all on the soft carpet runner.

  Directly in back of the man she paused. By the sound of his breathing, she knew he was sleeping. She changed her grip on the knife. It had to be done. She reached her hand around the man’s face, lowered the gleaming blade and sliced it twice across his throat.

  She felt the steel bite into flesh. On the second stroke, blood spurted onto her hand and she pulled the blade back quickly as the man fell facedown on the table.

  She jerked her hand back, saw the hot blood on her hand and gagged. She steeled herself, would not allow herself to throw up. She leaned against the wall while a sudden lightheadedness washed over her. She had killed another human being! Twice! She trembled so she almost dropped the knife.

  Slowly she reached back toward the dead man and wiped the blood off the knife and her hand on his shirt. She shuddered again, moved away without looking at him and tried the door. Locked. Her key would not work. She got a key from the dead man’s pocket without looking at him. It worked to open the door.

  She pushed the door inward quietly and stepped inside. Men lay on the floor, some slept sitting against the wall. Only eight of the older men were on cots. She looked for Jenks the co-pilot. When she found him she shook him awake.

  “I have guns! We can get more! We have a chance to break out of here!”

 

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