Fitzduane 01 - Games of The Hangman

by O'Reilly-Victor

  "Good question, said de Guevain.

  The review continued, covering the placing of the Claymores, distribution of the hand-held radios, food, medical backup, blackening of faces, duty rosters, and the host of matters, major and minor, essential to consider if the castle was to be defended properly.

  "Is there any way we haven’t thought of so far that we can send for help?" said Harry Noble. The ambassador's face was pale and strained, the shock of his son's death etched on his features. For the moment the heavy work load was keeping him sane. Fitzduane didn't like to think about the private torments the man would face in the future. To have killed your own son; it was a nightmare. The Hangman had much to answer for.

  "Fair point," said Fitzduane. "The question is how. We're completely surrounded and now their ship—"

  "The Sabine," said the Bear.

  "The Sabine," continued Fitzduane, "is blocking the seaward route." The ship, now that the focus of the Hangman's attention had switched to Fitzduane's castle, had left the point and was less than half a mile offshore from the castle.

  There was silence for a few moments. The fact was that sooner or later the Rangers should realize that something was wrong and send help. In contrast, no one present had any illusions about the dangers of trying to break through the Hangman's cordon, let alone getting off the island.

  "Something else to think about," said Fitzduane. "We don't want to let the Hangman get hold of a hostage."

  Harry Noble nodded. "That's something I hadn't considered. Perhaps we should wait it out."

  Fitzduane looked around. From everyone's eyes he could tell there was general agreement to wait, so they moved on to discuss the students. Some were still in shock at what had happened, but a number, refreshed after eating and intrigued by the preparations they had witnessed while filling sandbags and doing other manual work, wanted to join the active defenders. They were now bunked down behind locked doors in a storeroom off the tunnel. They hadn't gone willingly. The protests had been vigorous and had died down only when Fitzduane explained the problem: After the business of the Sacrificers, who could be trusted?

  "I don't know about keeping them all locked up," said Andreas. "I appreciate the problem, but I think we're going to have to arm a few of them. We need the manpower. The perimeter is too big to hold for long with what we've got."

  There was some agreement with this view. The defenders were stretched thin, and things would get worse after dusk.

  "They're not kids," said Judith. "Many of them are about my age."

  The Bear smiled.

  "Look," continued the Israeli girl, "they know the security problem. Why not let them pick some volunteers? They ought to be able to pick some people who can be trusted — unless you think they've all been suborned."

  Fitzduane shook his head. "No, we probably don't' have a security problem with the students anymore, but even so I'm reluctant to pout them on the firing line. Let's compromise. Let's put them to work picking some volunteers, but let's not use them unless we really have to."

  "Makes sense," said the Bear.

  Fitzduane looked at Andreas and Judith.

  "Fair enough," Andreas agreed.

  "Judgment of Solomon," said Judith.

  "Let's get on to considering what we're up against," continued Fitzduane, "and the options open to the Hangman."

  He looked at Noble, who had been given the job of coordinating everything they knew, including the string of reports from those on watch. The ambassador, de Guevain, and Henssen had then put themselves in the Hangman's shoes to evaluate his options. Both Noble and de Guevain had previous combat experience — de Guevain had been a paratrooper in his earlier years — and Hensssen had the greatest knowledge of the Hangman's methods of operation gleaned from his endless hours working with the Nose in Wiesbaden.

  "Best estimate," said Noble, "is that we're up against a force of between seventy and eighty hard-core terrorists, to which may be added a small crew from the Sabine. I would guess the one motivation they have in common is mercenary, but considering the Hangman's MO, there will be subgroups with their own specific reasons for wanting to strike back at what they see as the establishment.

  "The terrorists will have been highly trained in a rather rigid, unquestioning way. They will have been oriented toward a violent assault against ill-prepared opposition with an emphasis on inflicting maximum damage in the shortest possible time; they probably won't have had the kind of systematic, specialist infantry training needed for an assignment like taking this castle. But whatever the weaknesses in the fine points of their training, they will all be highly proficient in basic weapons handling and are undoubtedly fit, committed, and determined.

  "Their weapons seem to be typical Eastern bloc stuff apart from the Ingrams carried by the frogmen and the explosives, which are American. They have AK-47 assault rifles, Makarov automatics, plastic explosives, undoubtedly hand grenades, and probably a few RPG-7 anti-tank grenade launchers. We've seen no sign of anything heavier so far, but with the Sabine freeing them of normal transport constraints, they may have something more lethal in reserve. If they do, I'm afraid we'll find out the hard way. The likely candidates would be heavy machine guns, mortars, rockets of various kinds, or even artillery. Somehow I can't see most of that stuff being available because, on the basis of what the Hangman originally intended to do, what would be the need? But you never know with this fellow. He likes gadgetry, and he likes surprises.

  "We can hold out fairly well against small-arms fire and the other light stuff, but the RPG-7s, if they have them, could be a problem. They won't blow a hole through walls this thick, but if they get one through a window, the room inside won't' be a lot of fun."

  The Bear broke in. "We've used up every sheet and blanket and fertilizer bag and sack in the place, so we've got sandbagged blast shelters in every room and sandbags hanging inside every window and weapons slit. You can pull aside the bags with a rope if need be. We've also sandbagged the floors against blast and built extensive overhead cover."

  "What's the range of the RPG-7?" asked Etan.

  "Up to five hundred meters, theoretically," said Fitzduane, "but they are normally used at less than half that. To hit something as small as an arrow slit, particularly at night and shooting upward, you'd want to be closer in still. I don't think the RPG-7s are going to be our main problem. We want to worry more about explosive charges placed up close by sapper squads. A few pounds of C-4 in the right place, and the scenery starts changing. Make sure nobody gets in close, and make doubly sure if they are carrying anything like a satchel charge. Another thing: make sure when you drop somebody, he stays dead. For all the hype about hydrostatic shock and exit wounds the size of soup plates, 5.56-millimeter doesn’t always have the knockdown power of 7.62-millimeter.

  "Or .303," said Murrough.

  "So aim for multiple hits if possible," continued Fitzduane. "Three rounds rapid works just fine." He looked at Noble. "I'm sorry, Harry. We're getting off the point."

  Noble nodded. "Okay," he said. "We've covered who we are up against and how many, and we've had a quick look at their firepower. Now the question is, what are they going to do with all this?

  "The Hangman, as far as we know — and thanks to our friend's computers" — he pointed to Henssen — "we know a great deal — has never been faced with this sort of problem. Up to now he has always fought on his terms, mostly quick in-and-out actions with much smaller groups of men. His tactics then have been based on deception, surprise, speed, and firepower; they have been characterized by a disregard for human life and, from time to time, a warped sense of humor and a fondness for the bizarre.

  "In this case the Hangman has to get hold of at least some hostages, or he has no chips to play with. Unusually for him, because an escape route is one consistent feature of his operations, he seems to have committed himself totally. That mightn't have been his intention — the plane may have been his way out — but it's the situation now, with all that it i
mplies. He and his men have nothing to lose. They are going to be driven by desperation."

  "What's to stop him from getting back on the Sabine and sailing off into the sunset?" said Andreas.

  "Because high seas or not, he knows full well he'll never be allowed to get away. Every antiterrorist force in Europe wants his hide, and I wouldn't put it past the Israelis to swim over; they tend to travel when the incentive is right. No, the Hangman has to get what he came for here, or he hasn't much of a future."

  "So what do you think he'll do?" asked Andreas.

  "There are various scenarios we've looked at." Fitzduane broke in. "First, it looks like he's going to wait until dark; that's the most likely explanation as to why he hasn’t attacked up till now. Second, he's likely to use massive firepower to keep our heads down. Third, he's going to mount at least two attacks simultaneously, and one or more of them will be a diversion.

  "The high ground in this battle is the keep. If he gets that, he commands everything else. On the other hand, a direct assault on the keep could be mounted only by scaling the walls on the seaward side, and that would be suicidal. The other approaches are protected by the curtain walls. He's most likely to try for the gatehouse first, because from there he can mount a protected fire base against the keep and under its cover take us out with explosives or fire. That suggests an attack combining firepower to keep our heads down, a diversionary attack on the curtain walls, and a sapper attack with explosives on the gatehouse. The portcullis would then be blown with explosives, and in they'd pour."

  Fitzduane paused. His message was getting home. The analysis was making everybody think more of the totality of the problem and not just about his or her own immediate tasks. Their shortage of manpower to deal with the diverse areas they had to cover became more and more apparent.

  "Another possibility is that they'll concentrate on the great hall and use boats to assault from the seaward side. The great hall backs directly onto the sea, and although it has firing slits in the windows, it has no battlements. Also, it's lower to scale, and the slate roof could be penetrated.

  "Yet another possibility is that they'll use a favorite Middle Eastern weapon — the car bomb. I imagine they can get some of the vehicles at Draker going again. One of those driven at speed against the portcullis and loaded with a few hundred pounds of explosives might make whoever is manning the gatehouse very unhappy."

  He smiled. "Right, so much for the crystal ball stuff. Here's the deployment. Harry and Andreas will take the gatehouse with their personal weapons and the Hawk. Heini and Murrough will man the keep's fighting platform and watch the curtain wall facing the lake. Etan and Henssen will watch the curtain wall facing inland and the great hall. Judith, Christian, and I will make up the mobile reserve. Katia and Oona will look after food, first aid, the students, and whatever else is necessary. We'll keep in touch by radio.

  "By the way, one thing we don't know is whether they have any night-vision equipment. I would doubt it, given the operation they thought they were mounting, but let's play it safe. Anyway, they have had enough daylight to map the apertures and our defense positions, so we'd better expect to receive accurate incoming fire.

  "The good news, of course, is that we do have some night-vision sights for the SA-80s. They'll work up to about six hundred meters. I suggest you fit them immediately and zero them in in the tunnel on a rotating basis. Night vision is something they probably won't expect from us — let's not reveal the fact that we have it too early. I'll tell you when.

  "We do have floodlights set up for the bawn, the battlements, and the outside perimeter of the castle. We've wired them up on separate circuits, so one shot won't put out the lot, but I don't think they'll last too long in a firefight. The hope is that they'll give us an edge when it matters.

  "Remember to use the cover we've got and not to fire from the same position for more than a few seconds. Our muzzle flashes will show up in the darkness." He paused for a moment, then clapped his hands. "Let's go to it."

  Outside, full darkness was fast descending, and a strong breeze had picked up, sending the clouds scudding across the half-moon. No movement could be detected amid the force that faced them, but each defender knew that the respite would be short-lived.

  Those issued the SA-80s switched sights under the Bear's direction from the four-power day and low-light SUSAT sights to the similarly magnified night-vision Kite system and then zeroed in one by one in the tunnel. The compact Kites were a vast improvement over the bulky image intensifiers Fitzduane had first encountered in Vietnam. They carried third-generation tubes resistant to ‘whiteout’ and weighed only a kilogram each.

  The magnified picture they presented dispelled any illusions the defenders might have had that the terrorists had somehow vanished. The noose had tightened further.

  Working swiftly, the Bear and Christian de Guevain set up the initial experimental charges in the two cannon. The weapons looked sound, but what ravages time had worked to their castings would be determined only by experiment. Using a ramrod made from a mop handle, de Guevain loaded the first charge of weed killer mix and a wad. As an afterthought he inserted one of the ornamental cannonballs. He then retreated smartly behind a pile of sandbags while the Bear lit a paraffin-soaked rag stuck on the end of a fishing rod and, remaining under cover himself, swung the burning rag to the touchhole that he'd primed with black powder. There was a modest explosion, and the cannonball plopped to the ground about ten meters away.

  "It'll scare ‘em shitless," said de Guevain.

  The Bear handed de Guevain the mop. "Sponge out," he said.

  Sponging was an essential part of the procedure if the next gunpowder charge was not to be prematurely ignited by either the hot barrel or any remaining particles from the previous firing. "This time I'm doubling the load — and you can do the honors."

  The fourth shot sent the cannonball right through the stone wall of the storehouse. It came to the Bear that Fitzduane's castle was due for considerable structural alteration before the night was out.

  They increased the charge slightly for the fifth test and used the shrapnel mix. The results were awe-inspiring. The Bear and de Guevain settled on that formula and went to work making extra pre-packed charges of both propellant and shrapnel out of rolled-up newspapers and panty hose. By the time they had finished, darkness had fallen.

  Finally, it was truly night.

  * * * * *

  Airborne approaching the west of Ireland — 2223 hours

  Kilmara was in continuous radio contact with Ranger headquarters in Dublin, but there was still no word from Fitzduane, and the Ranger colonel was becoming increasingly worried. He could understand one or two checks being missed, given the social rather than military environment in Fitzduane's castle, but the total silence over such a long period was disturbing. Add in the inability to communicate with the guards at Draker — or, indeed, anyone else on the island — and the bridge's being down, and it looked like this was going to be no drill.

  Flying in the silenced Optica in darkness was an experience. The transparent Perspex bubble in which they were encased became invisible, and one had the sense of being part of the night, of actually flying without the physical aid of an airplane. It was disorienting. There was no apparent structure form which to get one's bearings, no window ledge or solid door. It was both exhilarating and terrifying, but it did make for an outstanding observation platform, and unlike a helicopter, which spends most of its time trying to shake itself to pieces, the Optica had no problem with vibration.

  He switched on the lightweight Barr and Stroud IR-18 thermal imager and scanned the countryside below with the zoom lens set at wide angle. The unit worked on the principle that everything above absolute zero emits some radiation in the electromagnetic spectrum and that some of this is infrared, with contrast resulting from both the relative temperatures and the strength of emission. The resulting television picture was a cross between conventional video black and white and a phot
ographic negative. The system could ‘see’ through mist and fog and normal camouflage. Fortunately, he thought, the human body is also an excellent heat source and shows up clearly against most terrain. The unit just might help make some sense out of what was going on on the island.

  As the Optica flew on, he practiced mostly by spotting cows. On the outskirts of one village he ran across a hot spot he could not identify at first: the shape was horizontal and smaller than a cow, though it was emitting nicely. A check with the zoom revealed a couple hard at it on a blanket, a penumbra of hot air around the central image bearing witness to their dedication.

  Kilmara knew that it was theoretically possible to land any of the three aircraft in the flight on the island — all had short takeoff and landing characteristics — but the margin for error was slight even during the day. It was not a viable option at night.

  The Rangers were going to have to jump once he had some idea of the local tactical situation. The big question was where. Jumping on top of a hostile force in an age when everyone carried automatic weapons wasn't the best way to boost morale. He had already had the dubious thrill of jumping into enemy fire, and although the tracers looked pretty as they sailed up toward you, it wasn't an experience he longed to repeat.

  From their past discussions Kilmara knew that Fitzduane's preferred tactical option would be to hole up in his castle until help came, but he also know that what one wants and what happens in a combat situation can be very different things. Since the two sides, by definition have totally opposing objectives, much of combat in reality tends to be a chaotic mess. In this situation the views of the college faculty could have complicated the equation. The action could be concentrated around DrakerCollege.

  Kilmara knew that his best chance of finding out what was going on before he committed his small force lay in making radio contact. The long-range transceiver might be out for some reason, but when he came close to the island, he should be able to make contact with Fitzduane's personal radio — if anyone was listening.