Once the Sea Hawk had gotten ahead of the incoming boats, it dropped down to the water again, and the team jumped down with splashes into the waist-deep, brown river. The helo roared off north to refuel at the Reagan, and the team moved quickly out of the center of the river to both sides where they quickly took up positions of concealment.
Moose deployed the legs of the SAW on a fallen tree, with Ripper and Jon nearby. On the other side of the river, McCoy, O’Connor, and Jensen found positions in a series of boulders, and Hodges quickly climbed an ancient tree with limbs draped in vines and moss that hung over the water. He lay prone on a branch bigger than most trees, completely concealed in the foliage and moss.
They waited for ten minutes, and the boats appeared, chugging along the river with outboard motors. There were eight boats, full of heavily armed men wearing explosive vests.
Up in the tree, Hodges focused on the first boat. He squinted and tried to confirm what he thought he was seeing. He shook his head in disbelief. “Overwatch to Moose. Tangos are all wearing explosive vests, over.”
Moose looked at Ripper. “We need to take them out quickly before any of them can detonate manually,” he whispered. He watched the boats getting closer. Originally, the plan was to wait for the boats to get right between them before shooting, but with the fighters all wearing exploding vests, that would put them too close to the ambush team. They’d have to take them out before they were right on top of them.
“Overwatch, helmsmen are yours. Stop those boats when I open up. Everyone else, pick a boat. My side of the river will start from the front, McCoy’s side work up from the rear. Do not let them get close with those vests. Prepare to assault.”
They sat in silence, hearts now pounding, as the eight boats moved along the slow current at perhaps ten knots. When Moose opened up with his SAW, the tracers began lighting up the river like a swarm of bugs.
“Fire! Fire! Fire!” commanded Ripper as Moose began taking apart the lead boat. Up in the tree, Hodges killed the man operating the outboard on boat two, trying to create a traffic jam in the river to slow the other six boats. His .338 Lapua Magnum round hit the man center-mass, blowing his chest open and flipping him off the back of the boat. On the other boats, it took a moment for the ISIS fighters to realize they were under attack. They fumbled and pulled up their AK-47s, firing blindly in the direction of Moose’s tracers.
Boat three roared around the first two boats, the lead boat now sinking with its occupants dead or dying in a hail of SAW rounds. The tracer rounds made the boat look like it was inside a fireworks display. Boat two was stopped in the water because no one was at the outboard, and every time one of the men tried to jump back there, he was killed. As the third boat sped past the first two, McCoy and his team on that side of the river opened up with deadly accuracy.
By now, the other five boats realized they were under attack and began taking action. The last boat spun around and took off upstream in retreat while the other boats gunned their engines and roared up out of the water, their bows now high with the fighters trying to return fire and hang on at the same time. Their accuracy was hampered in the erratic movement of the boats that were swerving around each other in a torrent of incoming fire.
Hodges fired a round through the engine of the third boat, which came apart and died. The men on board continued firing at Moose’s position, from where they could see tracer rounds, but McCoy’s team began taking them out from behind. It seemed as though the ambush might be over quickly until boat five’s commander began screaming at his men as he opened the throttle on his outboard, making a beeline for McCoy’s side of the river.
The boat commander had seen McCoy and his team take out the boat directly in front of them. As his boat roared toward their position on the bank of the river, Hodges tried his best to take out their engine, but he was in a bad position. McCoy fired his weapon and screamed at his team to take cover, but the men ignored the warning and kept firing at the boat in an attempt to protect each other. When it was almost on top of them, their commander screamed “Allahu Akbar!” and he and his men pulled their cords almost simultaneously.
The explosion was deafening and deadly. Hundreds of ball bearings tore through the battle space, cutting down trees and foliage that had provided cover. Ryan O’Connor and Ray Jensen were both blown backwards as the logs and trees they were using for cover disintegrated. McCoy had managed to get behind a large boulder and escaped injury, as did Hodges, high in the tree. Several ball bearings buried themselves deep into the branch’s underside where he was lying, but the size of the branch had saved his life. Boat six used the explosion to roar past them down the river at full speed.
McCoy, acting corpsman, leapt out from behind the boulder and grabbed Ryan by his vest. As he began pulling him to safety, he could see Ryan was dead—killed instantly by a ball bearing that had hit him right above his left eye. McCoy screamed out in shock, but he still had a man down in the field and had no time to mourn the loss of his friend. The enemy soldiers in the boats were still laying down heavy fire as they tried to head downstream past the ambush. McCoy stumbled over Ryan and crashed through some downed saplings, ignoring the heavy fusillade of gunfire until he got to Ray Jensen. Ray was on his back, trying to get to the pressure bandage that all of them carried in their front right pant pocket to stop the bleeding in his thigh. His vest had stopped two ball bearings from killing him, but not before they broke two ribs.
McCoy pulled the pressure bandage and tied it off tightly. “Stay down! Stay down!” he screamed as he stopped the bleeding.
“O’Connor’s hit!” Ray said through gritted teeth.
“Ryan’s gone, man. He’s gone. You stay down!” He handed Ray a morphine syringe. “If it hurts too much, pop this.” With that, he was gone, stumbling forward toward the river, his M4 popping off well-aimed rounds at the men in the boats.
Ray ignored McCoy and crawled through the incoming fire. He had lost his assault rifle in the explosion, so he pulled his sidearm, determined to stay in the fight. He belly-crawled in agony, and began firing at the boats.
On the other side of the river, Moose reloaded his SAW and took apart another boat as it tried to maneuver around the sinking wrecks in its way. He poured heavy fire into the outboard, even as its occupants concentrated their fire back at him. Ripper and Jon also fired at the boat. Finally, Jon shouted, “Fuck this, fire in the hole!” and leapt up and threw a grenade into the boat. One of the men in the boat saw it and tried to dive out, but he was hit by Moose’s fire and fell back in just as the grenade exploded. The grenade set off the exploding vests and every boat still floating came apart in the fiery blast.
The team stopped firing as they took cover, and when they peeked back out, it was over. One boat had headed back toward Aht, on the run south, and one boat had made it past them headed north on its mission. The others were now floating north in pieces or at the bottom of the river. A few bodies and body parts floated away downstream as well.
Moose looked over and saw Ripper and Jon, who both gave him a thumbs-up. He got on his radio. “Sitrep! McCoy!”
McCoy had run back to Ray to check on his bleeding. He spoke into his mic. “Two men down. O’Connor is KIA, Jensen is stable, leg wound. Need evac ASAP. Hodges, you okay?”
“I’m good. Scanning the river. All clear. We lost two boats. Coming down, out.”
Moose, Ripper, and Jon ran through the waist-deep water, being careful to check for any enemy survivors who could still pull their detonation cords. They made it across quickly and found Ryan first.
“O’Connor!” screamed Jon when he saw his friend. Ryan was on his back, dark blood pooled under his head. Jon checked his pulse even though he knew his friend was done. He bowed his head and said a quick goodbye, then ran over to McCoy and Ray. McCoy was putting a second pressure bandage on Ray’s thigh.
“How ya doing, bro?” asked Jon as he took a knee
next to McCoy. Moose and Ripper came up behind them, but stayed on guard looking for movement anywhere around them.
“Hurts like a bitch,” said Ray, “But I still got all my junk.”
“Yeah, good thing your dick is so small; on most guys it would have gotten blown off.”
McCoy tied off the bandage. “You’ll be okay, just don’t move any more than you have to. Moose?”
“On it,” he replied. He pulled the radio off McCoy’s backpack. “Rescue One to Eagle One, request immediate medevac at insertion point. One wounded, one KIA. Need immediate dust-off, over.”
“Rescue One, this is Eagle One, inbound. On your poz in fifteen. Out.”
Moose tried Apo next, but didn’t get a reply. He made a sour face. Apo and his team would have another boat heading their way within the hour. He and Ripper knelt beside Ryan. Moose gently closed Ryan’s eyelids and picked up one of his dirty, bloody hands, which he kissed before laying it across his dead teammate’s chest.
“So sorry, buddy. Rest easy, sailor,” whispered Moose.
Ripper quickly wiped away a tear. His string of profanities were inaudible.
Chapter 55
Kampong Aht
Mohammed and Hamdi were still inside their hut when the sat phone finally rang. Mohammed answered quickly. “Yes? Tell me what’s happening!”
He was assuming it was Hazrol with news on the two New Zealanders, but it was a panicked commander from his martyr brigade. “We were ambushed! There were soldiers waiting for us down river. They attacked us by the hundreds!”
Mohammed was stunned. How was it possible? Had the sultan double-crossed him? “Bruneian army? Police? Who attacked you?” he shouted. Hamdi’s face fell as he listened in on the call.
“I don’t know. It happened so fast. Commandos, not police. They were everywhere!”
“So what happened? Where are you? Did you get to the port? How many casualties?” He was rattling off too many questions for the terrified commander to answer.
“We’re returning to camp. I don’t know if anyone made it past the ambush. We were the last boat. We saw at least two sink. They ambushed us from everywhere! We turned around and got away!”
Mohammed felt sick in his stomach. “No, you idiot! You can’t come back here! You’ll lead them right to this camp! Turn around and go back!”
The boat commander was shocked. He couldn’t turn around—that was impossible. “But Mohammed! There are hundreds of them! There’s no way past them!”
“I don’t care! Find a way! If you come back here, I’ll kill you myself! Don’t be a coward! Attack! Attack!” He hung up and stared at Hamdi. “This is no good. These cowards will lead whoever attacked them straight to us. Assemble the men. We’ll need to leave here and find a new camp.”
***
Bruce “Batman” Wei had floated silently to the bottom of the bamboo ladder and climbed up to the plank walkway that connected the thatched huts. On the other side of the village, Apo and Carl sat waiting for targets of opportunity. They had six enemy soldiers down, and perhaps six or ten left somewhere in the village. As Bruce slowly crawled over the plank, he readied his Uzi and moved forward, trying to see, hear, or even smell his enemy.
It was painstakingly slow to get to the first hut. He peered inside and saw one of the fighters sneaking a nap inside. Bruce pulled his KA-BAR knife and moved to a squatting position, then moved forward in a low crouch. He checked to make sure the man was alone. In two long strides, he crossed the room and slit the man’s throat, then plunged it several more times into the man’s heart. He wiped the knife and whispered into his mic.
“I’m inside. One down. Out.”
Apo tapped his mic twice to let him know they heard him, without speaking.
Bruce peered outside the hut to the one across the plank floor and saw nothing inside. He quickly stepped across and cleared the room, then moved on to the next. It was three more empty huts until he was across from the one with the satellite dish. He heard a loud voice inside.
“We need to know how many boats made it! Even if we can only hit half of our targets in Singapore, it will be enough to be successful. But how many made it?” Mohammed was shouting.
“When they get to the trucks, we’ll have a number,” said Hamdi. “We just have to be patient. I’m sure some of them made it to the port . . .”
“If we don’t capture those two journalists, Minister Ali won’t give us the damn trucks or the ship!”
Hamdi nodded. He was equally frustrated. He wanted that blonde reporter for his own use, but even more importantly, the mission to Singapore had to be carried out.
Bruce listened from outside. His Arabic language skills were good, and he got almost every word. He was fortunate that the two men inside were screaming. He whispered to Apo. “Target is Singapore. Boat at the port. Out.” He quickly and silently moved across the plank walkway to position himself just outside the doorway of the command hut.
“If we tell Abdul Ali that we killed the two reporters, he wouldn’t know otherwise until after he supplied the trucks and boat. If any of our men made it, our mission would be complete. We can find those two later.”
Mohammed thought about that. It wasn’t a terrible idea. “But who attacked our men?”
Hamdi made a face. “The sultan wouldn’t do it. Who else could do it without his authority?”
They both knew the answer. Only the Americans would dare launch a counterterrorism operation inside a foreign nation.
Mohammed pulled out his sat phone and called the minister of the interior’s private cell phone. Abdul Ali answered immediately.
“The two reporters are dead.”
“Excellent, the sultan will be pleased.”
“Are the trucks and ship ready?”
“As promised, they’re waiting for you.”
“Very well. We’re moving camp, I’ll check back with you later.” He hung up before Ali could ask him any more questions. “Assemble the men!” barked Mohammed. He tried calling Hazrol and once again got no answer. He tried several of his commanders and also got nothing. On his fourth call, one of them picked up.
“Mohammed! We were ambushed!”
“Yes, I know. Where are you?”
“Almost at the place where we get off this river and find the trucks. What happened? Who were they? Almost everyone else is dead.”
“How many of you made it?” asked Mohammed.
“Only our boat. Eight of us.”
Mohammed was so angry he wanted to throw the phone. “Then you must make sure to hit your targets. We’re counting on you to complete this mission! Only you can do it, God willing!”
“We won’t let you down. As long as the trucks are there to bring us to the ship, we’ll make it.”
As he finished his call, Hamdi left the hut to gather the troops to break camp. As he walked out of the hut, Bruce stepped behind him and shoved his KA-BAR knife into the man’s lower back, then pulled it out to strike again. The large man was much stronger and faster than Bruce expected. Instead of dropping from the knife thrust, he spun around and crashed into Bruce, sending them both into the thatched wall of the hut. The wall collapsed under their weight, pulling part of the thatched roof down as well. Mohammed was knocked down by the roof collapse but managed to grab his AK-47 as he tried to understand what was happening. Bruce used lightning-fast hands to chop and strike at the much larger opponent. He shoved the knife into Hamdi’s throat and yanked it sideways as he spun away from the man’s crushing bodyweight. The man’s throat opened in a gush of gurgling blood, and Hamdi died with eyes wide open and foam coming out of his mouth and nose. As Bruce hopped to his feet, Mohammed fired his AK-47 on full automatic, spraying Bruce with a deadly torrent of bullets, flipping him off the plank walkway where he fell twenty feet to the soft earth below.
Apo and Carl heard the gunf
ire from the huts and knew it was the sound of an AK-47. They charged out of the tree line, just as three men who’d been gathering food ran up from the other side of camp. They spotted each other simultaneously, but Carl and Apo were faster. They fired their weapons and dropped the three men, never breaking stride as they raced across the open ground to where Batman lay on the ground.
Apo knelt next to Bruce and rolled him over onto his back. He had too many bullet holes to be able to save him. Bruce was bleeding out fast. Apo pulled a pressure bandage from his cargo pant pocket anyway and shoved it against his chest just above the vest and below his throat. Bruce was wheezing and coughing up blood. He knew he was dying.
“Singapore. Boat taking them to Singapore. Minister Abdul Ali is their contact . . .”
“We heard you. Save your breath. We’ll get them. You just hang in there.”
“Mohammed. Up there.”
“Just relax. We’ll get you out of here as fast as we can.”
“I’m dead, brother.” And just like that, Batman closed his eyes.
“Fuck!” Apo let go of him and started running after Carl, who had already headed for the bamboo ladder to the raised huts. Three more men came running across open ground from the far side of camp, having heard the gunfire. Apo saw them and dropped to a knee, and then fired accurately. All three men dropped quickly.
Carl reached the top of the ladder and crawled over onto the planks. He saw the command hut partly collapsed, with a big man bleeding all over the planks partially out of the hut. It was Hamdi. He drew up his M4 and moved closer, but the hut was empty. He scanned around for Mohammed, but didn’t see him.
A figure jumping into the water at the other end of the raised hamlet caught Carl’s attention. The man splashed into the brown river and swam quickly to a small Penan canoe and climbed in. He grabbed an oar and started paddling as fast as he could, heading downstream. Carl sprinted to the end of the plank catwalk and took a firing position, then opened up on the target in the water below. Mohammed fell back into the canoe as three rounds went through his back and out his chest. He reached clumsily for an oar as it fell out into the water, his hand grabbing empty air in desperation.
Dangerous Ground: The Team Book Five Page 18