Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection...

by D. W. Ulsterman

  Dasha managed to make her responding smile to Tilley appear almost warm, though her eyes remained near furious.

  “It is as I told you before. We are to be monitoring a possible arms dealing operation. A very significant operation I might add, one that my group at the New United Nations has taken a particular interest in.”

  Tilley cocked his head to the side, his eyes squinting slightly.

  “You mean the United Nations, right? You said New United Nations.”

  Dasha smiled, and this time even her eyes appeared to fill with warmth.

  “Yes, I did. The assignment is simple, Mr. Tilley - monitor the activity at the compound which your men are to now be residing across the road from. They report to you, and you in turn report that information directly back to Mr. Mardian. I am having a terrible time comprehending what is so difficult to understand about such an assignment.”

  “Because it’s bullshit. That’s not the assignment. We left Mac and his men weapons that are tools for assassinations. It’s a kill order you plan to give us, and I think you always planned to do so. Problem is, everything is pointing to my team being ordered to kill other Americans and I need to know why before I relay that kind of order. I’m having a terrible time comprehending what is so difficult to understand about THAT.”

  Dasha looked out her own passenger window, her voice coming back toward Tilley like very dark, deep, and slow moving water.

  “If you value the lives of your men, Mr. Tilley you will do as I ask. They are to complete the assignment as ordered, and if those orders evolve into more, shall we say, direct action against others in Benghazi, then so be it. That is why they are there. Failure to do so at any time will result in their own termination, as well as others involved. Do you understand what I’m saying, Mr. Tilley?”

  Ray Tilley looked over at Dasha Al Marri and actually contemplated if he could manage to choke her to death before Virgil came to her aid. It was a foolish thought, and he quickly pushed it out of his mind.

  “I understand the threat, Dasha. Mardian already gave me a similar one.”

  Dasha placed her left hand on top of Tilley’s right knee and lightly squeezed it.

  “Good then we understand each other perfectly now.”

  Tilley paused, his mind uncertain if he should finish the conversation with a question that now floated around his mind.

  “I’m wondering something. After the night you spent with Mac, would you really kill him and his men off that easy? That time together doesn’t mean anything to you?”

  Dasha put a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter.

  “Oh my, Mr. Tilley, it appears you are some kind of silly, hopeless romantic! I actually don’t particularly care for men – but am more than happy to sleep with them, your Mr. Walker included.”

  XVII.

  Mac and Jack had been walking in the dark for nearly three miles, each of them carrying one of the fifty caliber sniper rifles on their backs. What little traffic that came down the dirt and gravel road was avoided by the two men jumping down into the shallow drainage ditches that ran along each side of the road and pressing their bodies flat against the ground. Mac, knowing Jack had a fear of snakes, couldn’t help but take the opportunity to have a little fun.

  “Hey Alabama, if you land on top of one those dessert vipers they say are crawling all over this place, just remain calm, ok?”

  Jack jumped so quickly out of the ditch he appeared to be momentarily flying.

  “Dammit, Mac, why’d you have to go and say that?”

  Mac was trying very hard not to laugh, while he moved back onto the road and stood next to Jack.

  “Hey, just letting you know there are a few creepy crawlies out here. It’s nighttime though, they’re probably all slow and sleepy by now. No worries big guy. Except the scorpions, those little bastards love hunting at night.”

  Jack glared back at Mac, shaking his head.

  “Asshole.”

  Mac was about to respond when the glow of headlights began to illuminate the road again, forcing him and Jack back down into the ditch, something Jack was far less eager to do after Mac’s earlier warning of snakes.

  The first vehicle was another United Nations food relief transport truck. Three more identical trucks followed, driving slowly down the road back toward the compound Mac and his men had been ordered to conduct surveillance on.

  “You see those drivers? They sure looked Libyan to me, the serious business kind. Those weren’t some save the world United Nations types.”

  Mac nodded at Jack’s description while his eyes followed the path of the departing trucks, their taillights glowing like an increasingly distant, red eyed demon.

  “Look at that, they’re turning off the main road. That’s well before our position across the road from the compound. Now where do you suppose they’re going now?”

  Both Mac and Jack raised their night vision binoculars to follow the path of the U.N. food relief trucks as they continued down a secondary road before finally disappearing from view.

  “Once we obtain some transportation, we’re going back to see where those trucks ended up.”

  Jack simply nodded at Mac’s plan as they both continued walking down the road.

  It was nearly a mile later before Mac finally stopped and pointed to a large residential property that had just a few exterior lights on, and no indication of anyone occupying the home’s interior. The entrance was a paved road that ended in a circular drive at the front of the home’s entrance. What had caught Mac’s attention was the smaller building just adjacent to the main house. His instincts told him that other building might contain a vehicle.

  The two men made their way slowly down the property’s driveway, keeping to the shadows as they did so. Upon arriving at the smaller building, Mac paused, looking for any signs of a security system. Jack was already doing the same.

  “Looks clear Mac – nothing.”

  Mac was pleased to see three large commercial style exterior doors at the front of the stucco building.

  “Sure as hell looks like a place to store some vehicles.”

  Jack stood in front of what appeared to be the structure’s entrance door and found it locked with a single, large deadbolt. Holding the sniper rifle in his hands, Jack looked to Mac and then pointed the end of the rifle at the deadbolt.

  “Mind if I do the honors?”

  Mac’s teeth could be seen flashing faintly in the darkness as he smiled while taking a few steps away from the door.

  “By all means Alabama, but try to keep the noise down.”

  Jack fired just one of the AS-50’s armor piercing incendiary explosive rounds into the deadbolt and accompanying door frame, creating a momentary explosion that sent disintegrated bits of metal and stucco flying in all directions. The detonation echoed momentarily across the Benghazi desert before the area returned to silence again.

  Jack looked approvingly at the result. Nearly half of the door had been blown from the frame, the remaining half leaning inward by a single hinge. Mac gave a low whistle as he ran a hand along fragments of stucco.

  “Son-of-a-bitch, I do love fifty-caliber firepower.”

  Both men proceeded slowly inside the building, pausing to allow their eyes time to adjust to the interior darkness. Mac felt Jack tap his shoulder.

  “Hey, dumbass use the night vision.”

  Mac chuckled at the obvious that he had to admit, he hadn’t thought of. As they brought the binoculars to their eyes, Jack’s enthusiasm made itself known.

  “Oh… hell yeah.”

  Two vehicles were parked inside. The first, and not the source of Jack’s enthusiasm, was an older Chevy station wagon with wood paneled sides. The second vehicle was a massive, all black 2010 H2 Hummer with darkened windows and a custom, all chrome mesh grill.

  Jack ran his right hand along the Hummer while Mac considered the practicality of the station wagon. As Jack caught Mac’s indecision, he turned around and pointed dismissively at
the Chevy wagon.

  “Not that one, Mac. We go big, or we go home.”

  Mac shook his head.

  “That thing will draw attention to itself. That’s the last thing we need.”

  Jack refused to go along with Mac’s suggestion.

  “Bullshit, look at the tinted glass. They can’t see inside. Plus, which one of these do you want to be caught in a firefight with? We just look like your typical rich Libyan coming down the street. You want to draw attention to yourself, take out that family truckster and that’s what you’ll get. I didn’t see any of those on the road when we were driving through Benghazi.”

  Mac knew Jack was likely exaggerating the conspicuousness of the station wagon, but he had a point about the darkened windows and the possibility the Hummer would allow them to pass as a wealthy Libyan and thus, not be bothered as much by the authorities. Also, as much as he hated to admit it, the Hummer was just plain cool.

  “Ok, Alabama let’s take the damn Hummer.”

  Jack was already opening the driver door of the monstrous SUV, his hands clapping together as he found the keys already in the ignition, as well as the control unit for the garage door.

  “Telling you Mac, it was meant to be, man - meant to be!”

  By the time Mac was settling into the passenger seat Jack was already driving the Hummer slowly away from the building, the large access door closing behind them.

  “Gonna go dark, no headlights. Use the night vision.”

  It was a good idea, one that Mac again wished he had already thought of. Jack was on his game.

  “Take us back to where those transport trucks were heading. See if we can locate their location.”

  Jack nodded and pushed down on the Hummer’s accelerator, grinning as the big V8 Vortec engine rumbled its approval. It took no more than a minute for them to come to the same turn the United Nations trucks had taken. Jack headed down the secondary road, as both he and Mac scanned the area through their night vision binoculars.

  “Pull off the road, Jack - something headed our way.”

  Jack had already spotted the same set of headlights Mac was referring to. With the Hummer’s headlights still off, he moved the SUV some thirty yards off of the road, its black exterior blending into the dark desert landscape.

  Another of the food relief trucks drove past them, coming out of a gate just up the road from where Mac and Jack’s location.

  “Leave this parked here and let’s take a walk. I want to see what that place is. We’ll stay off the road, come in from the side where that little hill is over there. That should give us a good vantage point.”

  Moments later, Mac Walker found himself looking down on a property enclosed by a well built, thick stucco wall, with at least four security personnel walking the perimeter while two more armed men manned the access gate. Unlike the property they were instructed to watch from their safe house, none of the security team appeared to be Libyan. They were all white men. Several buildings were housed inside the property walls. The only vehicles Mac could see were four unmarked black sedans, identical to the one he had seen earlier at the property across the road from the safe house.

  Mac felt Jack nudge him. The big man was pointing into the night sky.

  “Two hundred yards out, moving directly over the property.”

  Mac followed where Jack indicated and saw, courtesy of the night vision binoculars, the profile of yet another drone moving silently across the desert no more than fifty yards above the ground. Unlike the earlier drone they had seen before though, this one appeared to be armed.

  “We sure as hell aren’t the only other ones who know about that place.”

  Both men watched as the drone flew directly over the heads of the armed security team before it disappeared into the darkness.

  “Now I might be a dumb, corn-fed redneck Alabama boy, but what the hell would the United Nations need with so much security for a place that has a bunch of food relief trucks stopping by?”

  Mac gave Jack’s question a thin smile, already aware of the implications of the possible answer.

  “They ain’t moving food…”

  Mac’s comment trailed off as he and Jack continued to peer down into the property. It wasn’t the possibility of arms dealing that had Mac unsettled. It was the seeming involvement of the CIA that appeared to be orchestrating the operation, and Mac and his team’s still uncertain secondary involvement in whatever that operation was intending. He had no problem pissing off a mob of angry Muslims, but coming in on the wrong side of the CIA was another matter entirely.

  First they would return to the safe house and then tomorrow, Mac would drive into Benghazi and get a sit down with Ella and hope she could provide some answers.

  XVIII.

  Ray Tilley sat in the darkness of his home office, wondering who he could turn to find the answers he promised Mac he would give him. His conversation with Dasha left him more certain than ever that something truly insidious was being undertaken in Benghazi, and Tilley was the one responsible for putting Mac’s team in the middle of it.

  His cell phone, sitting on his desk, began buzzing. The number displayed indicated it was the general.

  “This is Tilley.”

  “Mr. Tilley, I have some more information for you. Could you possibly stop by my home to see it? Say, first thing in the morning?”

  Why is he wanting to see me in person? Is it a trap? Did someone get to the general?

  “Mr. Tilley, are you there? Don’t keep me waiting on the phone, son.”

  “I apologize, sir. I just…I wasn’t expecting your call.”

  General Vannatter’s tone lowered slightly.

  “This isn’t some kind of trap, Mr. Tilley. I just don’t want to talk about this stuff over the phone. So will I see you tomorrow morning? You remember the way, right?”

  Tilley decided to trust the general.

  “Yes sir, I remember. I’ll be there.”

  Ray Tilley awoke just before dawn and prepared for the five hour drive to the general’s home in West Virginia. Given the early hour, traffic was still light, allowing Tilley to push the BMW a bit and make good time. He arrived at General Vannatter’s spacious country estate shortly after 8:00 a.m.

  The house was as Tilley remembered it when he last visited the property almost three years ago. That was for the reception that followed the general’s funeral for his wife of thirty-nine years. She had been suffering from congenital heart failure for nearly a decade and finally collapsed in the bathroom, fell into a coma, and passed away in the intensive care unit of the area hospital four days later. It was the first and only time Ray Tilley had seen the general appear so weak and helpless.

  The Vannatter home was a large four bedroom red bricked Tudor-styled home so common to the upper classes in this part of the United States. Tilley recalled the main room with the massive oak beam that ran from one end of the sixteen foot high ceiling to the other, a beam the general had once informed him was put there when the home was originally built in 1887.

  Tilley saw the entrance door open and the bent figure of a man he once regarded as among the most intimidating men he had ever known. The last few years had not been kind to the general. He was more frail, and the upper portion of his spine now noticeably forward. When he looked at Tilley and smiled though, the general’s hawkish eyes still gleamed with clarity and pride. Though a physical shadow of what he once was, the general’s legendary clarity and pride remained within him.

  “Mr. Tilley, I’m so glad to see you again.”

  General Vannatter extended a slightly trembling hand, which Tilley gladly took, noting how thin and fragile the general’s skin now felt as he shook it.

  “Thank you, sir. And thank you for the call. I appreciate all the help I can get on this one.”

  The general’s eyes looked past Tilley, scanning the driveway behind him.

  “Come in Mr. Tilley, we need to talk.”

  Tilley followed the general past the main room, an
d down a long hallway to where Tilley now remembered the general’s study to be. It was a room with its own fireplace, and a large window overlooking the property’s horse pastures. The general would spend hours watching his beloved horses moving about the fields.

  “Any soldier who isn’t a lover of horses is no soldier I want in my command.”

  Ray Tilley smiled to himself as he recalled those words from the general spoken to him years ago as they both looked out from the same window they now stood in front of.