Per Fine Ounce

by Peter Vollmer

  “Surely they’ll pick us up? The place is probably bristling with radar.”

  “No. With the CODESA talks still ongoing and progressing, the place is being mothballed. De Klerk doesn’t want to rock the boat. They’ve shut down all intruder surveillance and stopped all development a while back already. There are supposed to be only security personnel on the site, who now seem to be working for Van Rhyn. The government, or rather let’s say, de Klerk’s people are not even aware of the activity now going on there. Security is now in Van Rhyn’s hands — he may have replaced all of them with his own men. Remember what was said, the government doesn’t want to be attracting attention to what was going on behind the scenes. The recent supposed decommissioning of the WMDs drew more than enough attention.”

  Croxley raised a hand from the table to draw attention. “By the way, Overberg is situated on a local air route their national carrier uses. An aircraft flying over the complex at high altitude shouldn’t raise any suspicions.”

  Peace didn’t like it. Still too many unanswered ifs and buts.

  The secretary looked around the table. “Okay, enough of that. We’ll hold several briefings before we go into action. You’ll even have an opportunity to brush up on your parachuting here. We won’t be moving from here for a few days yet.”

  Later, over drinks served on the porch, Peace soon learned that the two Americans were professionals, having seen action in Afghanistan, Columbia, and the Middle East. At least this was reassuring. They’d both been active US Navy SEALS before being press-ganged into the CIA, as they jokingly put it.

  Peace had done his fair share and more for his country, first as a first officer and then as commander of an attack submarine in the Middle East, this mostly in the Persian Gulf. Following that, he’d seen considerable action in the Falklands War. It was the war in the South Atlantic that introduced him to covert operations, and it was then that he was transferred to VA’s command.

  Peace was not entirely happy with the developments. He didn’t need anyone to remind him he was a loner. Being partnered by Cherry was bad enough. Now there were four of them. Because he was considered utterly ruthless and was known to have the tenacity of a bulldog, this had earned him a special place in what VA referred to as his ‘special squad.’ There were not many others like him who were afforded such discretion to kill or not kill if the situation so warranted. The thought that the mission could fail never entered his mind. This fight had to be won; there was no alternative. The understanding that they would operate as a US Seal Team left him uneasy.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It took three weeks to hone the men into a coordinated fighting force. They had spent days in the desert on route marches or crawling through the sand and rock, and marching in the dark, taking up defensive positions around some imaginary guarded complex. All were seasoned troops and the three weeks’ additional training sufficient to weld them into a first-class fighting group. Peace was surprised by how well Cherry fitted in. The fact that she was a woman never became an issue, as she matched them all in every respect. Peace was impressed at how quickly she had recovered from the wound that nearly killed her. Professionalism demanded that their relationship never be allowed to come to the fore — none were to be aware of it.

  All four doggedly practised their skydiving skills. First during daylight and then at night; jumping from twelve-thousand feet, free-falling to below two-thousand feet before deploying their chutes. Their proposed target was small — no more than forty yards square. They were told this was the area of the rocket-assembly hangar’s roof at Overberg and that it was flat and with little in the way of air-conditioning machinery and ducting that could interfere with their parachute landing. It was considered sufficiently large for a night landing. And the building had both an external and internal staircase to the roof. If necessary, the bogus South African troops would draw the complex security’s attention for a while, and give the four sufficient time to descend into the assembly hangar’s interior without being observed. The bombs were said to be secured somewhere in the missile assembly building, obviously in some separate safe place and probably areas removed from the usual work zone. There was no doubt a separate guard detail would have been assigned to guard the weapons.

  Finally, it was decided that a diversionary force consisting of only twenty-five of the bogus troops masquerading as Trainee South African Air Force cadets, would be flown to Swellendam, a town relatively close to Overberg and which had an airfield far enough from the town itself not to draw attention to any sudden unusual activity. The main and only runway was sufficiently long to accommodate a large Norman Islander aircraft. The proximity of a South African Air Force base nearby in Bredasdorp would hopefully justify the presence of troops in the vicinity of Overberg and prevent any suspicions, since these kinds of movements were, with any luck, a common event.

  Again, through certain sympathetic connections in the South African military, two South African Army Samil all-wheel-drive canvas-canopied trucks were obtained, which would transport the troops from Swellendam to the outskirts of Overberg where they would occupy the deserted barracks. Weather conditions were a factor that had to be reckoned with; the strong winds along the coast were notorious. Assuming conditions were a go, the four agents would make their jump while the troops would immediately close in on the complex’s perimeter and initiate their field manoeuvres to create the necessary diversion.

  Intelligence had revealed that security around the complex in Overberg was still substantial — the perimeter fence was constantly patrolled, as were the beaches that extended outwards from the complex. Also, there were two manned observation towers. It was hoped the bogus troop exercise would draw their attention and persuade the perimeter guards to desert their usual place and move towards the perimeter fence that bordered the road, so dissuading any from entering the complex.

  A standby diesel-driven electric substation had been built within the complex, which adjoined the base’s workshop area. Its function was to automatically kick in if the area was to experience a power failure through the national grid. Apparently, this had happened before when the Cape experienced an unusually severe storm. If power was interrupted, circuits in the substation would close, the diesel engines would start and automatically resume supplying electrical power. The substation contained four South African manufactured ADE V12 diesel engines, each driving a huge generator, sufficiently powerful to supply power to a medium town. The team had given much thought to sabotaging the grid and the substation. It was decided, however, that the power-grid would have to be incapacitated, since the sudden and complete darkness was sure to create alarm and chaos — or so it was hoped.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  All four were dressed entirely in black. The black balaclavas they wore only revealed their eyes, as the surrounding skin was blackened. Besides the Heckler and Koch USP9 with silencer strapped to his thigh, Peace cradled a Heckler and Koch MP5 machine pistol in his lap, as did his three companions. Each had chosen his favourite type of sidearm and in addition, had two concussion grenades clipped to their bulletproof vests. A slim rucksack containing a variety of explosives and timers was stationed next to each of them.

  As highly trained operatives, they were all well aware that a small explosion could destroy any rocket, and even when dormant, the explosives were dangerous and highly volatile. The bombs, however, required disarmament, the nuclear trigger removed, and the weapon dismantled. This needed a degree of expertise, which was where the two CIA agents came in. However, it was considered highly unlikely the weapons were in any way armed, as they were probably all without the essential chemical explosive and the actual triggers.

  The twin-engined De Havilland Twin Otter was at eleven-thousand feet, the drone of the engines loud in the barely insulated fuselage, the four passengers sitting in seats facing each other down the length of the aircraft. The inside of the plane was in darkness except for the jump light above the bulkhead door which glowed
red and led to the cockpit. They’d just passed through a low-pressure weather front that lay across the country, the night sky around them blotted out by clouds, the aircraft tossed about by vertical winds and the night intermittently lit for a split second as jagged flashes of lightning rent the air. Fortunately, they’d left the storm behind and the flight now proceeded smoothly. The sky had cleared and lights dotted the land below.

  Even though they were out of the path of the storm, the weather was not ideal. A moderate to strong southwester blew in from the South Atlantic bringing a cold front with it, but this was estimated to only reach the Cape in the early morning. Still, the wind would add a degree of danger to the jump. The parachute landing’s approach would require perfect timing.

  “Get ready!” the jumpmaster said and opened the exit hatch in the side of the fuselage. The wind roared into the fuselage with gale-force strength. The four stood, all facing rearward, each carrying out a perfunctory check of the harness of the person in front, the last having been checked by the jumpmaster. Peace took up the rear. They now clipped their rucksacks to their chests, the MP5s firmly attached to these with special hook-tape straps.

  He placed his hand on Cherry’s shoulder, who was standing with her back to him, facing the exit. They had jumped multiple times while at Gaborone, including four times at night, so this was no longer a novelty. But since they were now jumping into action together, the excitement and fear were palpable. He could even sense some negative emotions coming from her.

  She turned to him. “Good luck,” she shouted with a wink.

  “You too,” he yelled in return.

  The flashing amber turned to a steady green.

  “Go, go, go!” the jumpmaster shouted, literally shoving the first agent out of the door, the others following almost immediately.

  Peace exited the fuselage door in the classic dive position with arms and legs spread.

  Very rapidly, his speed increased as he plunged towards the earth, working his body and limbs to stabilise his rapid fall and to stop the slow spin his body had taken on. The wind roared in his ears even though they were covered by the thick balaclava. His pace through the cold night air soon reached the terminal velocity of one hundred and twenty miles per hour. He sought out his companions, careful to ensure that the movement of his head did not upset his horizontal stability. He had been the last out so they had to be below him.

  In the thin air of the still-high altitude, the sky above consisted of a myriad of stars interspersed with broken cloud, the faint light sufficient to enable him to make out his companions, who were also dropping with arms and legs akimbo just below him as expected.

  The plan was that they would freefall for about a minute and a half. He looked closely at the ground, searching for those contours of the shoreline, which he had so carefully memorised. The most important landmark would be Saxon Reef, which from this altitude could clearly be seen with its stark white contrast as the waves continuously collided with the rocks. It was a white finger against the black of the sea as it stretched miles in a southerly direction into the ocean. He believed he was facing south and confirmed this by the small compass on his wrist.

  They were right on target; the testing site had to be just in front of him. He’d have to wait until nearer to the ground before he’d be able to properly distinguish it. It was agreed that the others would close in on him, but would ensure they kept at least a hundred feet from each other so to avoid being entangled in each other’s chutes once these had been deployed.

  As they passed through five-thousand feet, he began to make out the missile site, the perimeter fence clearly visible where the white sand had been cleared of brush to allow vehicles to patrol, creating a thin ribbon around the complex. A black strip indicated the main road to the north of the site — joining Arniston and Bredasdorp. The lights of a lone motor vehicle moved slowly along it. He made out the missile assembly hangar, its sides faintly illuminated from the lights below, and the rectangle of its roof no more than a black target. They were spot on where they needed to be. At two and half thousand feet, his chute automatically deployed, blossoming open above him, and the wide straps biting into his thighs. Using his hands, he quickly grabbed the two stabilising lines and manoeuvred his descent towards the hangar’s roof.

  Soon the roof loomed below, growing rapidly larger by the second. As he steered his chute towards the centre of the roof, he suddenly saw a dark shape and realised that a chute had just collapsed on the roof. They were landing into the wind and he had just enough time to pull down on the two stabilising lines he clutched in his hands, drawing the back of the square chute down — the manoeuvre dramatically killing his forward speed. He missed the black-clad parachutist already on the roof by no more than a foot or so. His rubber-soled canvas boots touched down on the roof, and he only had to run forward a few feet to steady himself. He immediately collapsed the chute’s canopy around him, the black nylon material settling before his feet.

  Another two distinct thuds followed as the last of the team safely landed, all successfully pulling in their parachutes. Peace was amazed that this had gone without a hitch so far. A good start, he thought.

  Once all chutes had been gathered, all four immediately dropped prone onto the roof. Peace and Barkly crawled forward towards the edge, which was no more than a concrete sill a few inches high.

  Just as they peered over the edge, they heard the distant staccato bark of automatic weapons, with another fusillade following thereafter.

  “Right on time,” Peace said to Barkly. “That should draw the guards’ attention.”

  Just then, there followed the crack of a concussion grenade in the distance.

  “Night manoeuvres,” the American commented. “Somebody is going to be as mad as hell since nobody informed him that the South African military had planned a night exercise. Let’s hope this distracts the guards.”

  They peered over the side and carefully inspected the area surrounding the building. There were a few people about, mostly in groups of two, but now moving towards the northern perimeter fence, no doubt anxious to discover what was going on. Hopefully, they’d all desert their usual posts out of curiosity.

  The hangar had to be about one hundred and fifty feet high, but that was expected, as an RSA-4 multi-stage rocket would reach nearly to the roof with its three stages. The plan was to abseil the seaward side once they were certain all guards had moved towards the northern fence. Fortunately, there were no watchtowers on the seaward side of the complex and it was thought unlikely any would see them descending against the cement-grey concrete wall of the hangar.

  Strong, but thin grey nylon ropes were quickly tied to an air-vent that rose from the concrete floor.

  “Check your radios,” Barkly said.

  This only took a minute or so — the throat microphones and tiny boom microphones that were taped to the side of their mouths and the single earphone clamped to their left ears functioned perfectly.

  “Peace, you first… Cherry, you follow. We’ll be right behind you,” Barkly said.

  By this time, all rucksacks and their contents were within reach and their machine pistols hung from their necks ready for immediate use.

  Four nylon ropes were slowly allowed to snake down towards the ground and Peace hoped no eagle-eyed scouts happened to be focused on the hangar at that precise moment.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Peace was about to clip his abseil harness to the rope when a movement to one side drew his attention. He turned to look and, recalling the diagrams and photographs he had studied, realised that he was looking at the Die Herberg, a building aptly referred to as the ‘The Inn’. This was where important guests and scientists, who were mostly from Israel, were accommodated when at Overberg.

  It was a two-storey building with a large central square in which a swimming pool had a place of prominence. All the lights appeared to be on — even the underwater lighting in the pool, which enhanced the sparkling blue of the wa
ter. Part of the quadrangle was taken up by a flat slate-stone floored area, which was dotted with a few terrace umbrellas, wooden veranda tables, benches, and chairs. These too were bathed in yellow light from numerous lamps on tall stands placed at random in the courtyard.

  A small crowd had exited the building, their attention no doubt drawn by the intermittent gunfire beyond the security fence and towards the road that fed Arniston.

  Peace quickly removed the NVD issued by the Americans from his rucksack. This was the latest state-of-the-art night vision device guaranteed to capture sufficient photons to identify an individual at long range, even in the dark of night. He brought the instrument to his eye and immediately identified Van Rhyn. He too was staring through binoculars in the direction from where the gunfire had emanated. General Booyens stood alongside him in camouflage army fatigues and to Peace’s surprise, he recognised Janet standing to the man’s right. There was no mistaking her mass of dark hair and the long legs in shorts with flat-heeled sandals. He recognised others who were mostly Van Rhyn’s henchmen and saw two other officers in uniform. They all stood on a long balcony on the first floor that overlooked the surrounding area and had an unobstructed view of the goings on.

  “Is that Van Rhyn and his crowd?” Cherry enquired softly from next to his shoulder.

  “Damn right. If it isn’t the bastard himself with his whole bloody entourage. I just know that him being here will complicate matters. He’s bound to be wary,” he snorted with obvious frustration.

  “Forget him. The WMDs first,” Barkly hissed forcefully. “We’ll deal with his crowd later.”

  Peace had to resist responding, thinking that it was quite possible that Van Rhyn and his men would, in fact, be the ones who would be dealing with the four of them.