by Peter Nealen
We skimmed the ground, which was mostly flat as a plate anyway, heading northeast toward the grid that was our emergency RV. I hoped that Imad and Spider had been en route when they made the call; the quicker we could pick them up and get back, the better.
It only took a few minutes. There was already a car sitting there, with the recognition symbol in tape on the roof. Hans took us in a fast circle, checking for any other company, then set us down less than one hundred meters from the car. Hank stayed on the outer door gun, and Jim and I hopped out and moved warily toward the car.
Imad was the only one in it, sitting behind the wheel, an AK across his lap. He had what looked like a makeshift tourniquet set high on his left arm, and his left side was dark with blood. Even through night vision, he looked shocky.
“Imad, brother, you with us?” I asked. I didn’t want to try to open the door and get shot because he was too far gone to recognize us.
“Get me out of here, Jeff.” His voice was weak, but clear. I slung my rifle and moved to open the door. Jim stepped in to help as I stuck out my hand to help Imad out of the car.
He grabbed my wrist with his uninjured hand, and I levered him out of the car and slung his arm over my shoulders. “I can walk,” he said.
“Where all are you hit?” I asked. I’d do a quick blood sweep when we got on the bird, but asking helped determine how all-there he was. Behind us, Jim was rigging a thermite grenade to the car. There wouldn’t be anything left shortly after we disappeared.
“Just my arm,” he said. “I think the humerus is broken.”
“All right, hang in there; we’ll get you out of here.” We were only a handful of paces away from the helo. “Imad, where’s Spider?”
“Taken.” That single word made my blood run cold. I didn’t know the guy, but he was technically one of ours, since we’d linked up with Baird. I didn’t want to think about what was being done to him. “We’re burned, Jeff,” he said. “We fucked up, and now we’re burned.”
“Let’s get you back to the lay-up, and we’ll figure it out from there,” I told him. Jim jumped up into the bird, then turned back to help pull Imad in as I pushed. He was a skinny bastard anyway, and not wearing any kit, so it wasn’t that hard. I grabbed a handhold and followed. As soon as I was in, I banged on the bulkhead next to the pilot’s seat and yelled at Hans to take off.
We roared into the air and swung to the west, as the car burst into flames. Imad was slumped in a seat in back, where Jim had hastily secured him, and I started checking him for further wounds. He was right; it just looked like a nasty bullet wound to his left arm. The humerus was definitely broken. I couldn’t tell how much blood he’d lost, but he was out of the fight.
Which meant we had to find a way to get him out of the country. Being this far out in the cold had a lot of problems, that being one of them.
He was still awake, in spite of everything, but was in too much pain to talk over the scream of the Alouette’s engine. I yelled in his ear to relax, we’d debrief when we got to the lay-up. He finally nodded, and we settled in for the ride.
We had taken a fairly straight-line course to get to the RV. On the way back, Hans hooked us about twenty kilometers north, so as not to cover the same ground, and, if somebody was watching our approach and departure, obscure where we were based. It took an extra few minutes, but we landed back at the lay-up, and most of the team came running as the rotors spooled down.
Nick and Bob helped Imad down out of the bird, and over to our shelter in the lee of one of the Unimogs. I stuck an IV in him as soon as we got him down, and went to work on his mangled arm. I didn’t know how long it had been since he’d been hit, but there was likely enough damage that he’d be lucky to get full use of the arm back. I had to throw a pressure bandage on the wound, while trying not to make the break worse, then splint it and tie it up so even if he moved around he wouldn’t damage it further. That, the IV, and a shot of morphine for the pain were about all I could do. He’d require surgery when we could get him to some decent facilities.
Imad had passed out while I was working on him. We had no idea how long he’d been pushing to stay conscious with that much blood loss, not to mention the mind-numbing pain of a bullet-shattered humerus.
Alek was on the sat phone with Tom. It sounded like Caleb and his team had managed to get into Ethiopia, since Kenya wasn’t letting many foreigners in at the moment. That put them a couple hours away by helo, the better part of a day by ground.
Finally, he hung up. “Caleb and his boys are in Dolo, with the 407, and the DC-3. We’ve got the 407 on the way to medevac Imad. They’ll be wheels-up in thirty minutes. So we’ve got about two and a half hours to figure out what went wrong, and decide on our next move.”
“Are we getting reinforcements from Caleb’s team?” Nick asked.
“Negative, they’re still in support. Mike’s team is inbound overland, they’ll rendezvous with us here, or if we need to move, at an RV we pick,” Alek said. “They’re bringing a few more toys, but mainly men, ammo, and food.”
“Finally,” Bob said.
“Are we hoping that nobody’s going to notice the better part of a company minus out here in the middle of the desert?” Danny asked. “Even out here there are nomads, and they talk. Baird’s guys and the helos make a big enough signature, do we really want to add another ten guys?”
“After that shitstorm in Djibouti City,” Jim said, “yes. I personally want as much backup as possible. It’s not like the bad guys are completely clueless that there’s somebody out here killing their guys. We’ve left enough of a trail of corpses already.”
“Not to mention,” I added, “that Imad said they were burned. Which means the bad guys definitely know we’re here, and we might be at the stage where we need to consider being able to fight our way out of the country. If that is the case, then we need as many guns as we can get. Face it, Danny, this stopped being nicely covert some time ago.”
“We’re not going overt here,” Alek put in. “It’s not like we’re going to lose our minds. If need be, we’ll spread out to reduce our signature. But we’re at war with Shabaab and all their allies here, with a handful of men. I’m not going to turn down another team.”
Danny finally nodded, but he looked even more unhappy than before. I kind of understood. He was the one that Langley was going to hold responsible for what happened out here, regardless of their own reluctance to support us with anything but money. Of course, all of our lives were on the line, and I thought he should probably focus a little harder on that, but given the fatigue levels we were all working under, I could sort of see where his mind was going.
There was some more discussion, mainly about options once Mike and his guys got there, but we were interrupted by Imad’s quiet call. He was awake, and although the morphine was making him fuzzy, he could talk.
“Easy, brother,” Alek told him, as we gathered around. “Take it slow. You took a hell of a hit.”
Imad swallowed and focused on Alek. “We got burned. We fucked up, and we got burned. I don‘t know how…”
“Easy man,” Alek said. “Start at the beginning.”
He blinked a few times. The morphine was really doing a number on him. When he started talking again, his voice was quiet, but steadier. “We got into the town easily enough. They’ve got checkpoints…map?” Danny held out the overhead photo we had of Kismayo. It didn‘t have a lot of notations, but it showed where everything was, as long as it could be identified. Imad squinted at it, then pointed out several major intersections. “But the checkpoints aren’t all that tight. They’re only on the major roads; most of the minor back streets are clear. Half the time we went by them, the troops were high on khat, when they thought they could get away with it. At night, they sleep more than keep watch.
“The first day we just kind of set up shop in the suuqa, offering some arms with hints that we had bigger and better toys for somebody with the money and influence. Just before sundown, we were
approached by a guy who said he represented the Kismayo Islamic Council. He had instructions from his boss to bring us to a meeting.
“We accepted. We didn’t know whether the Kismayo Islamic Council was actually affiliated with AQ, Shabaab, or Al Masri, but it was a place to start. So we packed up what we had, and followed him to his car. He had point and chase vehicles, both packed to the gills with militia, so whoever this guy was, he had some pull around there.
“They took us to a two-story building on the west side of town.” Again, he pointed out its rough location on the map. “About here.” He squinted harder at the photo. “I think it was this house, here. It was in a part of the city that was well patrolled, lots of guards. Even more on the rooftop. They took us inside, and we met with a group of Somalis who wanted to know what we had to offer, that could kill their enemies without notice. They’d gotten the hint that we could offer drones, and they were almost drooling at the possibilities.
“But when we started talking, I started to get the feeling that something was off. There weren’t any Arab advisors, for one thing. The guards’ equipment was shit, and their discipline was worse. These guys were making all the usual noise about jihad, evildoers and all that, but they seemed…well, kind of desperate and half-assed, I guess you could say.
“That was when Spider leaned over to me and said that they weren’t who we were looking for; these guys weren’t Shabaab, they weren’t AQ or Kalifah-affiliated, they were the holdouts from Hizbul-Islam, who’d been fighting over Kismayo with Shabaab since ‘09.
“That was a problem. We couldn’t do business with Hizbul-Islam and then hope to get close to Al Masri’s people. We had to disengage and get back out the next day to try to contact somebody Kalifah-affiliated, and this time we couldn’t use the same place because we’d have to avoid the Hizbul-Islam crowd.”
Imad had to stop and lay back for a moment. He was breathing hard, the pain and blood loss taking its toll. I checked his IV; it was still half full.
“Spider did most of the talking; he was more familiar with how things work here. He explained that we were just representing another dealer who works out of Bahrain, and that we didn’t have anything here yet, but were just feeling out the market.
“They didn’t like that. Two of them especially started getting agitated, and I was getting sure that we were going to get our heads cut off, but Spider reassured them, and said that he would pass the information along to his supplier, and that in a few weeks we would be able to provide them with a demonstration.
“They got even more vocal at the few weeks’ timeframe. I heard one of them say out loud that Malouf would be back before then, and they would lose their chance. It sounded like they hoped to launch a coup and take over Kismayo while most of Lashkar al-Barbar was out overrunning Baardheere.”
As Imad took another break, Danny mused, “That could actually be pretty useful. If the split between Hizbul-Islam and the AQ-affiliated groups is that wide, and we can spark it, it might be good cover for a recovery op.”
“Might be,” Alek replied. “Might also just get the hostages killed in the crossfire.”
“They’re scared shitless of Malouf and his boys,” Imad interjected. “The only way they’d be willing to risk it is if Malouf and most of the Kalifah advised and led units are gone. And then, half of them are even more scared of what Al Masri will do once they act against his puppets.”
“I take it you got out without an incident?” Jim asked.
“Eventually,” Imad said. “Spider had to do some fast talking, and make a lot of false promises, but we got out, and headed for our hostel. We’d try again in the morning.
“The next day was a complete bust. We talked to a few people, and kept our eyes open, but didn’t make any contact. We did see some things, though.
“There is a definite split in the city. About a third, to the west, is held by Hizbul-Islam, while Shabaab bully-boys control the rest. There aren’t very many Shabaab troops there now, but Malouf’s reputation is apparently scary enough that the Hizbul-Islam types don’t try to push their luck very much, even when he’s gone.
“But there is one area that the locals stay away from, and it looks like there are still a good number of guards. That’s the old Kismayo University, up north. One of the men who did stop by our little setup to talk said that Shabaab drove out the professors a year ago and took it over. I asked a few questions, but he didn’t know what goes on there. Just that there was a lot of activity a couple of weeks ago, and that the Shabaab soldiers kept it under heavy guard even when everything else was drawn down for the push on Baardheere.”
The whole team kind of sat up and took notice at that. It sounded like a pretty big indicator to me. Maybe that was where they were keeping the rest of the hostages. Or maybe it was a Shabaab/AQ headquarters, where we could at least pin down where the rest of the hostages were. It was more than we’d had, anyway.
“I decided we needed to check it out,” Imad continued. “Spider argued against it, said we needed to stick with the plan, but the plan wasn’t getting us anywhere. It looked like all the honchos were out of town. The man I talked to even said Al Masri had left last week, going back to the Arab states. He didn’t say which one. I asked if he’d heard of Abu Sadiq. He said he hadn’t. We hadn’t heard the name the whole two days we had been there. The man was a ghost; he didn’t seem to exist.
“When we got back to the hostel, I said I was going to go recon the University that night. Spider argued that I shouldn’t, but I pointed out how shitty the security was at night, and promised I’d be careful. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t do much about it without raising a ruckus. So I went.”
He started feeling around his pockets. “I made a sketch. It had all the guards and patrols I could see. I made a thorough recon, then headed back to the hostel at about 0300. But when I got back, Spider was gone.
“I hadn’t gone in the front; that’s probably the only reason I wasn’t taken. There were half a dozen men with AKs out front, waiting for me. I heard them talking. They were laughing about the handful of Americans trying to rescue the hostages, when so many hadn’t been able to stop ‘the brothers’ from taking them in the first place. That was when I ran, but I made some noise getting out, and they came after me. That’s when I got shot. I was able to evade, steal a car, and get out of town. Good thing they didn’t put enough checkpoints in to lock the city down.” He winced and lay back again.
There was a long silence, as we all took it in. We were close; it sounded like the burst of activity at Kismayo University fit with the rough timing of the hostages being moved away from Djibouti. Whether they were all there or not, we couldn’t know unless some other intel surfaced, but it looked to me like we needed to confirm that there were at least some there.
Apparently, my opinion was not shared all the way around. “If they know we’re in the vicinity, and Spider’s been taken, we need to abort,” Baird said. “We’re burned, and they will be ready for us if we attempt to move on them.”
“What do you think, Danny?” Alek asked. “Is this enough to get higher to send in the cavalry, or do they need more? Do we need to go in there and try to confirm?”
Danny sighed, and pulled his sat phone out. “I’ll ask.” He got up and walked away from the trucks, searching for a good satellite signal, while Imad, exhausted and pain-wracked, lapsed back into his morphine-induced torpor.
It was a short conversation. “They won’t risk it,” Danny reported. “They won’t so much as move any assets until we have solid confirmation on all targets.” His shoulders were slumped in defeat. “And yes, that means we have to know exactly where all one hundred fifty remaining hostages are being held before they’ll commit anything.” He ran a hand over his beard. “Damn it to hell. I’m sorry, guys.” He looked at Alek solemnly. “If you make the call to abort, I understand.”
Alek didn’t say anything for a long time. None of us did. Most of us just stared at the imagery of Kismayo
and thought. There weren’t many good options. Hell, there weren’t any good options. Rock, meet Hard Place.
It was Larry who finally broke the silence. “By all rights, the smart thing to do would be abort,” he said. “But I have one question before we make that decision.” He looked around at the rest of us. “What other option do those hostages have at this point? If the powers-that-be aren’t willing to do anything until they have one hundred percent confirmation, does that mean they get abandoned to be human shields or worse if we call it quits? Are we really the only chance they’ve got?”
Eyes turned to Danny, who held up his hands and shook his head. “I’m not really part of the team on this one, guys. I’ve told you what I’ve gotten from my superiors. I’ll leave the decision to you.”
“I think Larry hit the nail on the head, guys,” Rodrigo said. “Washington has written these men and women off, unless we do something.” He looked down at the dirt for a moment, then looked up at Alek. “I don’t like that. I don’t like that we already lost Colton on this clusterfuck, and the idea that he went down just for us to turn around and abandon the mission turns my fucking stomach.”
“The odds suck,” Tim said.
“The odds always suck,” Hank replied. “Why do you think we used to say, ‘alone and unafraid?’”
“If we’re burned, we can’t take our time,” I pointed out. “If we’re going to go ahead and push, we need to do it soon, or those poor bastards are going to go the same way the ones in Qardho did.”
“I’m not going to make this call by myself,” Alek said. “We’re all here by our own choice. I personally don’t think we should turn tail and leave those guys to rot, not while we still have ammo and freedom of movement. But I’ll leave it up to the team. All in favor of continuing on mission?”
All but Tim raised our hands. He looked around, then said, “Aw, fuck. Fine. I think it’s suicide, but I suppose there are worse ways to go.” He raised his hand too.