by Mel Odom
“How many bogeys?”
“Six. No . . . eight. I see eight.”
Heath steered straight at the enemy vehicles. The Humvees were more heavily armored, practically tanks compared to the al-Shabaab’s civilian vehicles, which had few upgrades beyond the machine guns. The Humvees had reinforced bumpers capable of dealing damage in a collision.
A moment later, Heath spotted the first of the vehicles. Gunney Towers did too, and the big fifty-cal spoke in a voice of thunder. Rounds chewed up the ground in front of the approaching pickup, then smashed through the radiator and the engine. Flames burst out from under the hood.
Out of control, the stricken vehicle veered to the side and slowed down, becoming a roadblock for the jeep behind it. Gunney Towers tracked to the new target and lit it up as well. The driver must have tried to take evasive action, but the effort ended in disaster when the jeep turned turtle on the rough ground and ended up rolling over and over while slinging passengers from it like rag dolls.
Looking back at the camp, Heath watched as a new salvo of mortars slammed into the tents.
Gunney Towers reached down and slapped Heath on the helmet. “Nine o’clock. Now.”
Responding immediately, Heath pulled on the steering wheel and felt the vehicle buck and rear as the tires fought the uneven terrain. It looked like they’d caught a massive dust cloud and were dragging it after them.
“Mortar team.”
Heath spotted them then. A three-man team hunkered down under a low ridge that hid them from the camp. He steered for them as Gunney Towers opened up with the machine gun. Fifty-cal bullets tore one man to pieces and took the legs out from under another. The third escaped, but only because Heath bore down on him so quickly that he was out of range of the machine gun’s field of fire. Heath adjusted the steering wheel and chased the man down, thinking of the women and children he’d seen lying dead on the ground. There was no mercy in his heart, only the desire to subdue the enemy.
The al-Shabaab man was there one instant, then he was under the wheels. As Heath made another tight turn, he looked back the way he’d come and saw the corpse the Humvee had left behind. Then he was looking for new targets, knowing they could save lives if they acted quickly enough.
Dazed, Daud peered up from where he lay on his back on the ground. His first thought was of the boy, and he couldn’t remember how they had gotten separated. He believed one of the last explosions must have knocked him away.
Frantic about the boy’s safety, Daud forced himself to stand and peered at the operating table where the boy had lain. He breathed a sigh of relief to see the boy still there.
Several dead men and women lay in the tent. Both of the men he had brought there were now corpses that joined some of the medical staff and other patients.
Before Daud could cross to the boy, four men dressed in tattered clothing entered the tent through the large hole in the back. They carried machine pistols that they brought out of their loose clothing. One of them was a hawk-faced man with a fierce beard whom Daud immediately recognized as Qaim, one of Haroun’s lieutenants.
Reluctantly, wishing he had a weapon, Daud gave ground before the men.
“You are certain you saw him come in here?” Qaim gazed around the wreckage belligerently.
“I am certain.” The speaker suddenly pointed at Daud. “There. With his head bandaged.”
Qaim lifted his machine pistol.
Hurling himself forward, Daud dodged through the front entrance of the tent as bullets ripped through the air where he’d been. He immediately went low once outside the tent, scrabbling at the earth with his hands like an animal.
A Marine wheeled and looked back at him, pulling his weapon to his shoulder. Daud didn’t know if the man would have shot him or not, because in the next instant bullets from inside the tent struck the American in the face.
Even as the corpse fell, Daud reached out for the fallen Marine’s rifle and pulled it to him. Still bent low, Daud ran and dove behind the pickup he had driven into the camp. On the other side of the vehicle, breathing raggedly, he yanked the captured weapon to his shoulder and peered at the tent.
One of the al-Shabaab men appeared in the tent’s doorway. Daud centered the rifle’s sights over the man’s chest and opened fire, squeezing off two three-round bursts that drove the corpse back into the tent. Then he waited, hoping another man got brave enough to do the same thing.
Only no one did.
Gathering himself, getting a bad feeling about the lack of response from the al-Shabaab men, Daud slid away from the pickup and returned to the tent. Instead of going through the entrance, he made his way around to the section blown out at the side. He remained low and duckwalked into the tent.
One of the al-Shabaab men remained inside. The man watched the tent’s front entrance nervously, but he split his attention between the other open sections of the tent as well. He noticed Daud coming through the opening too late, but he tried to bring his weapon up anyway.
Wanting to take the man alive, Daud shot him in the right elbow as he turned. The bullet’s impact knocked the machine pistol from the man’s grip. He screamed in pain and stared in shock at the crimson threading down his numb arm.
Approaching him, Daud covered the room. The other two men had gone.
The boy was gone as well, as was the doctor who had been attending him.
Turning, the wounded al-Shabaab man tried to escape, but he was in shock and not moving very well. Daud grabbed the man by his shirt collar and bent him backward over the nearest operating table with the heated rifle muzzle under the man’s chin.
“Where is the boy?”
The man didn’t speak.
“Talk.” Daud’s tone was cold and dispassionate. “If you do not, I will kill you right here.”
“They took him. They took the boy.”
“Why?”
“Qaim knew they could not stay here. When they saw the boy, Qaim said that since we had not killed you, Haroun would be happy with the boy as a compromise. They left to take the boy and the two doctors to Haroun.”
“Why would they do this?”
“As hostages. To keep the Americans at bay, and to draw you to Haroun.” The man grimaced in pain. “Haroun has promised to kill you.”
Daud thought only of the boy and how yanking Kufow around as Qaim and his compatriot were doing couldn’t be good for his injuries. The boy needed medical treatment and a chance to rest.
“Where did they go?”
The man nodded toward the back of the tent. “There. They went that way.”
Yanking the man forward, Daud hauled him from the table. “If you make one wrong move, it will be your last.”
Holding his injured arm, the man stumbled forward. Daud followed him to the hole in the rear of the tent and stepped out into the open. He gazed in all directions, but all he saw was madness, people fleeing, a mixture of vehicles among them. There was no sign of the boy.
“Lower the weapon.” The voice sounded behind Daud and held grim intensity and lethal conviction. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
Recognizing the accent as American, Daud gingerly placed the M4A1 on the ground and held up his hands. “This man is one of those who attacked this place. He is al-Shabaab.”
“We’ll get all that figured out soon enough. You just take three steps away from that weapon and drop to your knees. Do it now.”
Angry and frustrated that he had lost the boy, Daud complied with the order, then locked his hands behind his head as he was also told to do. He stared at the crowd of people running from the camp and tried not to feel helpless. Afrah was still out there. Something could yet be done.
“I want to speak to your commanding officer.”
The Marine stepped forward and grabbed Daud’s left wrist. “We’ll have to see about that.”
Moving quickly, knowing that if he wasn’t in a position to force a negotiation, he would have nothing, Daud captured the Marine’s wrist and jerk
ed him forward, headbutting the man in the face. Spinning on the ground, he swept the Marine’s feet from beneath him as the assault rifle cracked rounds into the ground. He grabbed the Marine’s MARPAT uniform and pulled him forward again, keeping him off balance, then slammed his head into the man’s face again. Cartilage snapped and blood spurted from the Marine’s broken nose. His legs went boneless and he dropped.
Daud captured the falling rifle and pointed it at the al-Shabaab man as the terrorist tried to get to his feet. “No.”
The man froze.
“Sit.”
Reluctantly, the man did as he was told. “I am bleeding. I need medical attention.”
“You should have thought of that before you blew up the medical facilities. Be thankful you yet live.” Daud remained seated and waited, raking the bandages from his head. If the Marines knew of him, now it was time for them to know he was here. He knew he did not have enough people to attempt to rescue the boy. He did not even know where Haroun was.
But he felt certain the Marines would know more. He would get their information, and then he would decide what to do.
The attackers turned tail without warning.
Heath almost pursued, buzzing with adrenaline, but he knew that would be a mistake. They could be leading him and his team into a second ambush.
“Hold your positions, Indigo. Let’s get a new perimeter established and see if we can take care of our people.” Heath turned the Humvee around and headed back to the camp. Smoke crawled into the sky from the burning aqals.
“Indigo Leader, this is Indigo Three.”
Three had been left behind at the camp. “Go, Three.”
“We have a situation here. Are you coming back?”
“On my way now.” Heath put his foot a little harder on the accelerator, wondering what had happened now, doubting that things could get any worse than they already were.
When he saw Rageh Daud holding a rifle to Private Thomas Ruiz’s head just outside the medical tent while a dozen other Marines held weapons on him, Heath thought maybe he should reevaluate his earlier assessment.
“Are you the commanding officer?” Daud spoke calmly, and Heath figured that was a good sign.
“I am. Lieutenant Heath Bridger.” Heath let his rifle hang at his side, not bothering to point the weapon at the man. If Daud shot Ruiz or moved his rifle in anyone else’s direction, he was a dead man.
“I have a proposition for you.”
“I’m listening.”
“We have a common foe, Lieutenant Bridger. Korfa Haroun. I trust that you know this name.”
“I do.”
“A man acting on Haroun’s behalf has taken a boy I brought here, a boy I do not wish to see come to any harm.”
Heath didn’t say anything.
“This man, Qaim, also took two of your medical personnel as hostages.”
“How do you know this?”
Daud pointed to the wounded man sitting close by. “Because this man is al-Shabaab. He was with the team that came to assassinate me. He told me. And nurses inside the medical facility will confirm that.”
Heath pointed at the destruction that had been done to the camp. “You think all of this was because of you?”
“No. I think Haroun wanted to strike at you as well. Perhaps to get the cargo you brought.” Daud shrugged. “However you choose to look at it, we have both lost something to Haroun. He has more men than you do. He has more men than I do. But together, with the information the man can give us—” he nodded toward the wounded man—“I think perhaps we might have a chance of getting those people back.”
Heath paused for a moment. “I can call for help.”
“Do that and Haroun will be gone before anyone can get here. You are days away from Mogadishu, and even the planes you use will be hours away, if they can muster a rescue effort so quickly.” Daud glanced at the sun. “It is eleven o’clock now.”
Taking a glance at his watch, Heath discovered Daud was only eight minutes off. Impressive.
“Your military command will take time to form a strategy and follow through on an operation to rescue those doctors. And before they do that, they will want someone to investigate Haroun’s hiding place.”
Heath nodded.
“You see how this agreement benefits both of us.”
“Yeah. The problem is, how do I know I can trust you?”
“The same way I know I can trust you. Because in this instance, we must trust each other.”
Before Heath could say anything, Daud removed the rifle from Thomas Ruiz’s head and tossed it away. Immediately two Marines rushed in to take him into custody.
“Stand down, Marines.” Heath surprised himself at how quickly he’d made up his mind about the situation. But everything Daud had said, including the need to recon Haroun’s fortress, was true. “How many men do you have?”
“Twenty-six.”
Heath estimated he had perhaps that many Marines who could take the field. “How many men does Haroun have?”
“According to this man—” Daud nodded toward the wounded al-Shabaab terrorist—“Haroun had a hundred and twenty.”
Heath smiled grimly, thinking of the carnage he and Gunney Towers had left scattered all over the outskirts of the camp. “Well, it’s safe to say that Haroun doesn’t have that many anymore.” He took a breath. “Call your men in. Let’s see what we can put together.”
Daud nodded and looked around, then back at Heath. “Perhaps I could borrow a vehicle.”
34
FOR THE FIRST FEW HOURS back at the camp, Bekah rotated in and out of patrol. The sight of the destruction in the camp took her breath away. Even though she’d been somewhat prepared by her radio conversations with fellow Marines, she hadn’t realized the actual impact. When she wasn’t patrolling, she split her time between helping out with the wounded and grave duty. There was no time to bury anyone. That would have to be attended to later, but it was important to know where the bodies were and who had died.
Gathering the Marine dog tags of the six dead was the hardest. She couldn’t help feeling that Charlie Company’s Indigo Platoon had to have some of the hardest luck in the Corps.
She also hoped that Matthew Cline was still alive.
While she, along with most of Indigo, stayed occupied, Heath and Gunney Towers remained locked up with Rageh Daud and the al-Shabaab terrorist Daud had captured during the attack.
Then, finally, Heath called them in to the briefing.
Seated in the briefing room, which was one of the surviving tents, Bekah studied the handmade map on the board as Heath covered the fortification where Haroun had holed up.
“From the intel we’ve gathered, Haroun has between a hundred and a hundred twenty armed men inside the fort.” Heath stood in front of the mixed group of Marines and Rageh Daud’s bandits.
The tension in the room was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. Everyone—Marine and bandit—kept their hands close to their weapons, and Bekah couldn’t believe Heath had kept bloodshed from breaking out already.
The bandits had lost friends and loved ones to the al-Shabaab, though. Some of them had lost entire families. So their focus on Haroun as the larger enemy was easy to see. The Marines were bound by a desire to strike back for lost comrades and to carry out their mission to eliminate the al-Shabaab from Somalia.
“There’s no getting around the fact that you’re going to be outnumbered two to one once we’re inside that fort.” Heath didn’t hold anything back, and Bekah believed all the listeners respected him for that. “But that’s where training and desire will make a difference.”
Several of the bandits who knew English translated Heath’s words for their cohorts.
“Our main objective is to get a good assessment of the fortification. If we can’t get our people out, then we’re going to be able to hand solid intel over to the Marines arriving in the morning. Whatever we don’t finish tonight when we attack will be finished in the morning.�
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One of Daud’s men, a giant with savage scars, grinned coldly. “Perhaps they will only be here in the morning to applaud our success.”
Heath grinned back at the man. “If we manage to pull that off, then we’ll deserve the applause.”
Looking at the bandits, Bekah couldn’t help thinking about the innocent UN and Somali soldiers the men had killed while stealing medicines and cargo from convoys, trying to help the displaced people. In some respects, they weren’t much different from the al-Shabaab.
However, she forced herself to remember that the bandits were displaced as well. In fact, all of the warriors gathered in this room were displaced—the Marines had been called from their homes and thrown into a foreign battlefield to protect the innocent and the weak. Bekah had never really thought about things in that light before. It was a revelation of sorts.
“We’re going in at dark.” Heath spoke flatly, with a calm orator’s voice, and it required hardly any effort for Bekah to imagine him up in front of a jury in a courtroom. “We only get one shot at this, and here is how we’re going to do it.” He turned back to the map. “A skeleton group of Daud’s men under the guidance of one of my corporals will pull the Humvees up to the front of the fort as night falls. They will stay out of mortar range and put on a show of attacking the fort. While the al-Shabaab are engaged on the front, the rest of us will attempt to breach the rear of the structure. With luck, we should be able to get inside before we’re discovered. Once we’re there, we put down every al-Shabaab man we find while we search for the prisoners.”
Bekah swallowed and her ears popped.
Heath faced his troops. “Are there any questions?”
There were none.
“Then let’s move out.”
Two hours later, Bekah lay along a ridgeline on the east side of the fort. As she gazed through the darkness on the other side of the structure, she saw the Humvees arrive. The vehicles’ lights glowed brightly in the black night.