Sabotage

by C. G. Cooper

  Karl had obviously arrived at the same conclusion because he said, "Come on, let's go find the kid."

  The steady fire helped them zero in as they bounded from crater to crater, rock to rock, trying to keep their path as erratic as possible while still running toward the sound of the gun.

  "Come on kid," Vince said under his breath, hoping that Christian would take the drone down before the drone operator figured out where the gunfire was coming from and shifted the camera from them to the boy and his grandfather.

  The silent request was answered, and Vince saw the drone tilt, first in a plume of smoke, and then it veered hard. The operator was obviously trying to get it back to whatever base they had, but it was no use. Another crack of gunfire and the drone was coming down, useless to whoever was behind it. The mortar fire fell off behind them now that the enemy's eye in the sky was gone, and for the first time in minutes Vince could breathe a little bit easier.

  He thought he had Christian's location to the mark. He was right; a couple more minutes of stealthily heading that way, they'd found him. He and his grandfather looked unharmed. A little dirty, but no worse for the wear. Christian wore a broad smile, his pearly white teeth a stark contrast to his dark skin.

  "Did you see that shot?" he asked, but then his smile faded. He was staring at Karl. "Are you okay? Did you get hit?" Christian asked.

  Karl shook his head and coughed once into his hand. Vince saw him wipe it on the back of his trousers. "I'm fine kid. Good shooting there. You really saved our asses."

  Christian smiled again and Vince couldn't help but think how strange it was to see a teenager beaming while mortar rounds were still firing in the distance. He could make an excellent shooter one day. Calm under pressure. Vince filed that thought away for another day. If they ever got out of this mess, he'd make sure that Christian and his grandfather were well taken care of for their valiance.

  "We need to find those mortar tubes," Vince said. "How well do you guys know the area?"

  Christian turned to his grandfather and asked a question in their native tongue. They had a brief conversation and then Christian turned back to Vince.

  "My grandfather says there's a dry creek bed not far from here. It runs up to some high ground where he thinks perhaps they've set up the mortar tubes."

  "Can they see us if we head in that direction?”

  The grandfather shook his head and motioned at the sand low to the ground with his hand. Vince understood that if they stayed low, they could probably stay concealed.

  "Alright, we'll lead the way. Do you mind if I borrow that?" Vince asked, pointing to the weapon in Christian's hands.

  Christian gave it to him without a word and he then pulled three more full magazines out of his backpack, handing them over to Vince.

  "I'd like that back when we're done, if that's okay," Christian said.

  Karl chuckled. "Kid, when we get out of this thing I'll buy you a whole armory of these."

  It took them at least thirty minutes to get as close to the enemy position as they dared. The whole time Vince kept glancing at the sky, half expecting a fleet of drones to come out searching for their lost companion. But no more little birds showed themselves, even though there was a possibility that some predator-like unmanned aircraft could be high in the air, of course that took special flight clearances. Vince didn't think even the Chinese could get away with that.

  There was one five-minute stretch when all sound stopped, the mortar tubes taking a break from their pounding, but then they resumed. The four travelers debated stopping as the first rounds went downrange, but they didn't rain down on Vince and the others. The mortar fire was focused at where they'd been hiding earlier that morning, so while the enemy was focused on their old location, Vince was on point, creeping closer to the enemy.

  Then he saw them.

  The four mortar tubes were arranged in a neat line on the far side of a small hill. There were two battered Toyota pickup trucks behind them, and a gaggle of fifteen or so men lounging about. There was no conformity to their uniforms as far as he could see, but as he watched he saw precise movements by the mortar gunners, loading in unison and calling out shots. There were neat stacks of rounds behind them that an ammo carrier could keep bringing to each gun.

  Vince watched it all for a minute, trying to pinpoint the flow of the operation. It really had the laidback feel of a day on the gun range, and if he hadn't been on the receiving end of those rounds and had just walked up on the scene, he might've assumed that's exactly what it was.

  Vince Sweeney had no problem with killing these men. The odds of this being some random attack were high if not extreme, and while he liked their odds, especially considering the fact that there were no guards posted and most of the men behind the tubes had laid their weapons on the ground. Vince was still wary about leading his four-man band up against twenty or more if there were some he couldn’t see.

  In the end it wasn't Vince or even Karl who made the decision. It was Christian's grandfather, who hopped out of the creek bed and marched purposefully toward the enemy emplacement.

  "What's he doing?" Karl hissed.

  Christian looked as confused as Vince felt. They'd just lost their element of surprise. First one member of the enemy and then another followed by all of them raised their weapons. They began shouting at the unarmed man walking into their midst. The grandfather had his hands up and was saying something rapidly but calmly. There were confused looks exchanged by the men by the pickup trucks.

  "What's he saying?" Karl asked Christian.

  The boy shook his head, "I don't know, I can't hear. The mortars, they're still—” and just like that, the mortars stopped firing. Now they could hear voices, the grandfather's clear above the others.

  "He's saying, ‘You know who I am. You know who I am,’” Christian translated.

  It was apparent the old man was not offering himself as a prisoner to the enemy. The words spoken came from a position of authority. He was demanding to be heard. By now half of the men had lowered their weapons. The grandfather was speaking loudly again.

  "He's asking why they are firing on him and his friends. Why are they doing the work of the devil in their own land?" Christian continued translating.

  Then there was a commotion toward the back of the group, and Vince saw three more men running toward the pickups. One man stood out among the enemy troops. While the remainder of the rebel force had dark skin that ranged from cedar to ebony in color, this last man, who was yelling, looked to be of Asian descent.

  "Bingo," Vince said, raising his weapon.

  Now the Asian man was standing right in front of Christian's grandfather, but Vince couldn't hear what he was saying. There was obvious discord now. Vince could see it in their body language. Over half the men were listening to the grandfather while maybe a quarter took a less-than-resolute stand with the Asian man. Vince could feel the tide turning.

  Christian said, "He's asking them why they're calling this man, the stranger, their master when in fact it is his own nephew who would take care of them."

  This last question elicited the most drastic response. Now there were men backing away, as if being in the mere presence of the Asian would damn them for life. There would be no better time. Thanks to the old man, they'd taken back the mantle of surprise. It wouldn't be easy, but as an operator who'd fired millions of rounds over his career, Vince knew his shots would be true. He'd already picked out his first targets - the men who still stood behind the leader. The Asian man he would keep alive because he would make the perfect bargaining chip no matter the situation.

  Karl understood what was about to happen. Without a word, Vince motioned Christian to remain behind but to take cover. The boy looked upset, but he nodded his assent, and he hunkered down further. No sense getting the kid killed; he had his whole life in front of him.

  Vince had just taken his first step out of the creek bed and had sighted in on his first target when a roar from behind made him
turn. Not one, but two Russian-made Hinds blasted overhead low enough that the rotor blast sent plumes of dust and debris up all around them.

  For a split second, he thought that maybe it had been just a coincidence, they were going to fly by, and he'd have to come up with some other way of getting the old man out. But then the attack helicopters turned and weren't pointing in the direction of the mortar tubes. They were pointing straight at Vince Sweeney and his companions.

  In the face of all that armament and then the swiveled weapons of every man who had been in the camp, Vince had no choice but to raise his hands and cast the weapon aside to the ground.

  Chapter 10

  Cal couldn't wait to leave Cairo. It wasn't that the place didn't have its charm; the country itself was steeped in a millennium of history. However, all Cal could think about was Vince Sweeney and Karl Schneider.

  His team needed to get close to the action which involved flying into Djibouti. The president hadn't liked that idea and insisted that they wait for more precise satellite imagery, but Cal and his men were through with waiting. First they'd fly into Djibouti City and drop off Gaucho and Top. Then he, Daniel, and Doc Higgins, with Liberty, of course, would hitch a ride over to Camp Lemonnier. Gaucho thought he might still have some friends on the ground in the capital city, and Cal figured he and Daniel could probably pull a couple strings with the Marines at the American Forward Operating Base.

  To make matters worse, the Chinese, and now the Djibouti government, were putting a full court press on the American president. Complaints were being drafted for the U.N. Cal knew that could spell trouble, not just for his friend, but also for them as they sought entrance into the country. A ban placed on travel could prevent The Jefferson Group from getting into Djibouti which would make their operation tricky. It wasn't that they couldn't find a way around it, but a straight shot sure would be preferable.

  Everyone, except for the Powers brothers, were now gathered in Cal's suite making their final preparations. They were just beginning to discuss worst-case scenarios and the contingencies. All of a sudden Liberty bolted up from where she had been lying at Cal's feet. She was holding her head low and growling, pointing straight at the hotel room door.

  Three seconds later came a knock, soft and unobtrusive, like room service or the maid would give in an attempt not disturb the guests inside. Liberty growled louder and more menacingly. Every man was up on his feet, and even Dr. Higgins had his hand in his coat pocket where Cal knew he kept his sidearm.

  "Who is it?" Cal called out.

  "Turndown service," came a female voice from the door.

  "No, thank you. We'll be leaving soon," Cal said. They were met with the sound of silence, except for Liberty's growling. Cal moved to the center of the room while the others peeled off to the walls on either side of the door.

  Trent scooted to the back wall where he could look out the window. "All clear back here," he said.

  The next sound wasn't a knock but a crash. Three burly men burst into the room, their eyes straight ahead, and immediately locked onto Cal who had his hands behind his back. He tried to appear as nonthreatening as possible. He even smiled when the three thugs came to a halt.

  "How can I help you gentlemen?" Cal asked, smiling.

  "Where is he?" inquired the man standing in front.

  "He who?"

  "You know who I talk about. Give him back," the man continued in his heavily accented English.

  The morons who were supposed to have their leader’s back had been so intent on him that they hadn't looked to their sides, but now they did. Daniel and Gaucho had their weapons raised. There was a lot of shouting among the three men like they couldn't determine what to do. The man in the lead must have told the other two to shut up because they did. Still the leader seemed unconcerned about their predicament.

  "Where is he?" he asked again.

  Cal smiled. "Look buddy. I have no idea who you are or, who you are looking for, but I can tell you for sure that you've picked the wrong time and the wrong place to come busting in here."

  Cal couldn't tell if the guy totally understood but he still seemed unconcerned.

  "My friends kill them now.” He gestured to Cal’s friends. “Then we take you to talk." He said something in his native tongue to which his goons responded with an obedient bark which must have been a “yes” or “yes, sir.”

  Stupid, Cal thought even as the silenced rounds from Daniel and Gaucho's weapons expelled, mowing the two men down.

  To the leader's credit he didn't turn around despite the fact that he'd gotten a good splash of blood across each cheek and most certainly covering the back of his head.

  "Looks like it's just you and me now," Cal said. "You sure you don't want to talk about this?"

  The man laughed, and it was the first time Cal realized that he had an earpiece tucked deep in his ear canal. Cal didn't think but instinctually whipped his weapon around, shooting the man twice in the forehead before the enemy could squeeze off a single round.

  The body hadn't even hit the floor when Cal heard Trent say from behind him, "Get down! Incoming!"

  Cal had just enough time to hit the deck, holding Liberty beneath him, when the windows behind them exploded in a plume of fire, raining down upon them broken shards of glass and pieces of metal.

  After the initial concussion, Liberty was up and turned toward the window. Cal rolled over onto his back and saw five men on rappelling ropes, swinging in through the newly created hole in the side of the building. The massive form of MSgt Trent yanked one man aside before smashing the butt of his pistol into the attacker's face, rendering him unconscious. Cal was sighted in on the second invader and shot him twice in the chest. However, like the Energizer Bunny, the thug just grunted and kept coming after Cal. After two more rounds hit him in the face, his forward progress halted.

  Daniel, Cal thought. He spotted him shifting his own weapon to the next target. These guys weren't pros or they would have come in shooting. Maybe they'd been given explicit orders to take prisoners instead of killing everyone in the room. Cal and his men were under no such rules of engagement.

  A third man was down. The man in the middle was suddenly covered with a face full of fur. Liberty was ripping and tearing, and for a moment, Cal watched his dog with wonder. The man was screaming, and his blood gushed from his face. When he tried to fling the puppy off his body, she hung on with twice the tenacity. As Liberty held the man down, Cal was able to put two rounds in the man's belly.

  There was one man left now. Daniel and Gaucho were closing in on him with extreme caution. Cal wondered why they didn't just shoot him until he took a closer look. It was then he saw that under his assault rifle their attacker held something else - a grenade. It was the old-fashioned pineapple kind, and the pin was pulled out. The man didn't have to say anything; his intent was clear. If he was going down, they were all going down with him.

  Everyone except for the dead or the wounded enemy were on their feet now. Cal was inching closer, hoping he could get the live grenade out of the man's hand. You couldn't just shoot him and hope that he'd hold onto the grenade and the spoon, giving Cal enough time to push the pin back in. No, the guy would die, drop the grenade, and take at least three of them with him to meet the Grim Reaper.

  "You don't have to do this," Cal said. He even put his empty hand in the air. The man was glancing around him with furtiveness and buckets of sweat were pouring from his forehead. He had a scraggly black beard, and he looked like he could have been either eighteen or thirty-five.

  "They kill me," the man said.

  "Who will kill you?" Cal asked, trying to calm the man down.

  "They kill me," the man repeated. He moved the grenade and held it to his chest. He looked like a child who was guarding his toy from the other kids on the playground.

  "Give me the grenade," Cal said in a firm, yet quiet voice.

  The man shook his head and Cal half expected him to drop the grenade. He was in a panic. H
e kept looking around the room as if willing his comrades to rise to save him from this tragedy, but then Cal saw the resignation flicker in the man's eyes. He swallowed and then two things happened simultaneously. Four silenced rounds came in from Cal's right shooting the man in the face and neck. His legs crumpled, and then a black shadow tore in. Cal, for a nanosecond, believed the form to be Liberty. Fear tore through his body as he realized Daniel had thrown himself onto the man. Of course it would be Daniel, his protector, always ready to sacrifice his life for Cal’s life.

  Cal was too late. There was nothing Cal could do except fall back and try not to get sprayed by the coming explosion. He counted down the seconds in his head. Three—two—one. He was on the ground now, curled up in a fetal position. Yet, there was no explosion. He was surprised to hear first a chuckle off to one side which was joined by laughter from the hotel room door. Top and Gaucho.