A test of Desert Heat – A Test of Time
Chapter 3 by Tobias Nixon
’85 Ford station wagon 19:02:09 18 km north of Mogadishu
(west coast)
The Somali desert was hot. The aircon just never quite worked. Even when you had it cranked up
high. At least that’s what the crew of American Special Forces troops holed up
in a civilian station wagon thought. The legroom was cramped with boots and the
space filled with assault rifles and webbing.
They were coming flying out of the desert on the main
highway into Mogadishu. Twin dust trails spun up from behind the car. The
reflection of the sun in the distance bounced off the boiling tarmac. Heat spun
through every pore of each man’s body. Only eyes remained cool and calm.
Unblinking as the city came into view.
It was then that the sedan left the road, and stated to
drift along a side road that wound towards the coast and away from the city.
They drove for another hour until reaching the dunes near the sea.
The thick tendrils of the sand the only sign of their
passing. Within minutes the strong winds had covered any remaining tire tracks.
The vehicle was a high end V8 turbo under the hood. It also had long range fuel
tanks fitted under the chassis. The boot was full of enough arsenal for the
five occupants of the car to take out a small town.
Sargent Henessy worked the open mike in front of him.
“Bravo-Two-Zero-Alpha. Reporting successful completion of
movement through echo-two-tango. Proceeding with commencement to objective
Alpha-One-Five-Zero.”
“Acknowledged, Whisky-Five-Zero. Your mission is cleared.
Proceed to Alpha-One-Five-Zero.”
Alpha-150 was the wait point. Army intelligence had got wind
of a meet up between some high levels. Of those in control of large parts of
the capital Mogadishu, there was no greater terrorist group than The Deadly Eastern
Wind. The terrorists were meeting with their pirate brothers at a remote and deserted
point on the eastern Somalia coast line. The pirate teams operating out of this
area were incredibly well organised and it was long suspected that they were simply
more mobile marine based teams of terrorists. The source of income they
provided from ripping off rich pleasure craft (these seemed to be quite rare
now) and commercial vessels coming down from the gulf was still impressive.
With the wealth of Somalia’s natural resources and its people in almost
complete disarray the terrorists needed a source of wealth to continue
operations against what was left of the existing government forces.
“Team get ready.”
“Sarge, are we expecting anything to come in hot?”, the
youngest member of the team, nicknamed Ali Barba, Ali had the gift of tongues.
One of those gifts was Arabic, but he wasn’t expecting to
need that particular gift, more his other an almost supernatural ability to
nail pinpoint targets at all ranges, in all conditions.
“It’s possible, but Intel tells us the meeting isn’t
scheduled for another three hours. We’ll recon the position then settle in with
some snipers and a snatch squad and see if we can’t get close enough to their
leaders.”
The Sarge lent back against the front passenger seat. His
gaze long on the hot dunes disappearing into the side view mirror. Reflected
heat seemed to amplify his thoughts.
“There’s something else boys. The targets may not all be
Somalian nationals. Reports are that some of the heat signatures are pretty
unusual. Too high to be human, was what Intel said. I want Ali Barba and Mikey
on sniper duty. Ditz you and Diego take point as the snatch squad hidden in
this shed here”,
He pointed at the digital map on his modified galaxy tab s.
Army modified so that the encrypted coordinates could be automatically updated
in real time no matter how intense the battle raging around them. Right now it
calculated the distance between the tip of his finger and their destination.
Distance, duration, time to each objective.
“Easy E, I want AA and suppressing fire from the high
ground. This is going to go down. Everyone stay ready.”
Fixed stares became iron hard, as each man said his silent
prayers.
“Whisky Five Oh, deploy.”
Sarge drawled from the front seat.
He had been monitoring the route on the virtual map and had
his own mental countdown going on. Whisky-Five-Zero immediately burst from the
vehicle, still under heavy brakes. Military boots tracks left heavy prints as
the soldiers secured armaments from the boot then left single file at a fast
jog towards the final recon point.
The squad were just shadowy wrathes in the sands. Each man
had dug in under a tarp, then had the last guy standing, Easy-E give them a
light covering on top. The results were impressive. Easy-E went back to the
high ground, and lay down with his Stingers and light machine gun laid out to
the right. To the left were a series of switches and a brace of hand grenades.
Desert sands, 22:01:23 25 km north of Mogadishu (west coast)
Three hours later. Late afternoon cast long shadows across
the sand. The ocean not far distant by the rumbling sound of crashing waves. Two cars from
opposite directions converge on the ambush point. Tall men dressed in soft
white flowing robes and dark rich skin get out of a silver Mercedes. Native Somalians’,
these presumably are the terrorists, Easy-E thought. As the only team member
with line of sight he was tasked with giving the encrypted voice comm start
operations. This group of men walked with casual intent, swinging their AK and
M16 assault rifles jovially about, talking quickly in Arabic.
The second group were just as casual but clearly more
comfortable at sea. This group was more eclectic, consisting of a Moroccan, two
Yemeni’s, an Egyptian, two Somalian’s. But it was clear the older taller
Somalian was in charge. He didn’t quite have a skull and crossbones, well not
quite. The guy had obviously watched too many pirates of the Caribbean movies
though. He had long dark dreadlocks
platted with small sun bleached bones, Easy E guessed hand or foot,
anything else human was too big. The pirate captain’s clothes were a multi coloured
assortment of garish labels stolen from rich wardrobes, the pants were a sturdy
black hemp kept up with rope that also kept up the contrasting styles of this
modern pirate just nicely.
Each member of Whisky-50 waited and listened to the
“chatter” from two parties. Their leaders were arguing. An automated
translation program filtered the signal and provided a rapid if sometimes
inaccurate interpreter.
“Captain you and your crew should be congratulated for
finding the suitcase undamaged. The deadly wind of the east will not forget
your contribution.”
The terrorist leader seemed kind almost fond of the captain
as he lent in and gave the traditional greeting. His smile would soon turn to a
deadly crease of concentration. The terrorist leader was not a man one
negotiated with easily, if for that, at all.
“There has been a small complication. The syndicate will not
sell for less than $5 million US dollars. Recovery of the cargo was not without
significant risk and loss of life. We were not told the boat would be carrying
heavily armed guards.”
The terrorist leader’s eyes began to burn. Burn into the
captains skull. The captain was blissfully unaware of the hatred being directed
towards him. He extinguished a half smoked cigarette in the dirt. Bending back
up he smiled at the terrorist leader, knowing that his words carried weight. In
the desert the man with the water was king.
“That is Unacceptable. You were made aware of the risks when
you were asked to hijack the old frigate Mary-Magee. The cargo in that suitcase
is not easily fenced, be reasonable we are offering you a lot of money.”
The captain didn’t seem to hear him. His eyes were blinded
by greed. If the terrorist leader didn’t pay, his crew of cutthroats’ next stop
would be a meeting with a US forces contact that could facilitate negotiations
with the CIA. Given what he’d seen on the boat he could guarantee they would be
interested. He didn’t really care so long as he got paid.
“Terrorist leader plainly the suitcase is valuable, we
assume at least one other much less preferred client will want this suitcase
“back”. Therefore what you say is somewhat ingenious. I couldn’t care less what
your group thinks, if I don’t see the $5 Million, this suitcase is going back
to the boat with my crew.”
“But surely you can understand? We previously agreed on $2
million USD. It is simply not possibly to arrange an extra $3 million for you
without warning.”
“Haw! The very fact you contemplate a larger payment tells
me something very useful. I’m beginning to see that Dibra was right when she
told me to take it straight to the fencers in Morocco. I did not as we have had
many honourable dealings in the past Terrorist leader.”
The terrorist leader’s head went red. His already scary countenance
dominated by blood shot puffy eyes, skin pulled tight, and a jaw wide,
jawboning his adversary before unleashing his final verbal tirade.
“You fucking cur of a dog. Dog shit eating Scum! Don’t you
understand? We must have that suitcase tonight!”
So saying he ripped a throwing knife out of the robes at his
front and threw down at the captain’s feet. The knife flew hard and straight
embedding itself in the captain’s right foot.
“Ahhhhhhhh! You bastard, kill these fools!”, the captain
roared, attempting to walk backwards, raising his hand pistols. The lights of
the cars were suddenly killed. Easy-E had thought both groups were with their
respective leaders but now it appeared at least one member of each group had
remained with the cars. As per the original orders the snipers would be lining
up primary targets in their night vision scopes. Snipers should be just about
ready to...
“Wait!”, the Sarge screamed over the comm line, encrypted
static burbling before and after, “This feels like a trap to me. If you’re the
captains men killing the lights is a good move as it causes confusion in the
terrorists, but why would the terrorists kill their own light, they don’t have
scopes and there’s no moon light in the desert tonight. Stay hidden.”
Indeed, thought Easy-E, the only man with a clear line of
sight in the blackness.
“Sarge, I can report no casualties from either side.”
“What about the pirate captain?”
“He is nowhere to be seen. Wait...”, Easy-E pressed his
right eye into the receptacle of the night vision scope. Somewhat disbelieving
he stared harder to confirm his earlier judgement. “Sarge, pirates are missing.
The man we identified as a terrorist leader earlier appears to be in charge.
Wait..”, Easy-E scanned the surroundings near the group.
“I can see a dead body of to the side of the pirates
vehicle. I can confirm it is the captain. Ah-Haar, he’ll be disappointed not to
have had a watery grave dah Capt’n Blackbeard will.”
“Lose the wise cracks Easy”, Sarge focused his breathing, it
was the time before combat when his nerves pulsated like this, blood to be
spilled, the responsibility of command. But he needed clear thoughts, something
was not right out there among the dark dunes.
Desert sands, 22:10:10 24.6 km north of Mogadishu (west
coast)
The terrorist leader stroked his thick black beard. He was
lying face down on a dune less than five hundred metres away. Away at the
bottom stood an off-road bike, tied to it, a shiny silver case. By now the
pirate captain would be on his way back to the small clipper that would make
the run back to base. Carrying $50 million in diamonds.
He looked down with night vision goggles at the chaos
unleashed. They had planned this operation, but had only expected the Americans
to watch by satellite. That they were here already with an armed response told
the leader everything. They would risk international outrage to get the silver
suitcase back again. He had several contingencies, but the warriors below were
tearing his guys to shreds. Time to even the odds. He reached for his small
mobile. Touching it he activated an encrypted web based chat service. Each time
the user account was brand new.
“Activate Archangels. Allah Akbar.”
The terrorist leader stretched to his full height and with
that he scooted back down the dune. Kicking the bike’s clutch hard he gunned it
back towards Mogadishu.
Desert sands, 22:11:05 25 km north of Mogadishu (west coast)
Sarge got them ready for battle,
“Listen up troop. We assault in 5-4..”
someone else took up the count, “3-2-1”.
Like well drilled soldiers it started with a distraction,
Easy-E opening up on the engine block of the terrorists’ car igniting it in
less than five seconds with armour piercing ammunition. The fuel line caught,
and a giant fireball exploded from the direction of the fuel tank, causing the
back half of the car to jump into the air.
As he turned the barrel to increasing his personal terrorist
body count, the twin sniper positions opened up on the group by the car who on
hearing he explosion had scattered like frightened ants in the hot noon sun.
Nowhere was safe. The long barrelled thermally scoped experimental AR-18 rail
guns ripped there targets apart.
“Double kill!”, barked Ali Barba.
Mikey swore, then made a 500 metre kill look Eaasy. The rail
gun made no messy explosion the bodies just dropped like potato sacks. He had
been waiting to get a double kill with the new rail gun. It’s lethal
penetration capability on soft targets made it ideal for punching through wood
and light building materials into infantry.
As the mayhem reached its zenith, the three remaining men
exploded from their hidden positions in the sand. Even rising bullets were
flying. Each squeezing the contents of a clip into those running from the car
ten metres away. It seemed to be a wildly successful ambush if for one small
detail, they needed some Intel to keep the desk jockeys happy.
“Easy, report have you got a visual on the remaining
enemies?”
“The terrorists are accounted for, six dead.”, Easy said,
and the Sarge’s assault troop checked the bodies in front of them.
“The pirates are nowhere to be seen, but that’s odd, I swear
I see the Moroccan pirate from earlier in the outfit of that terrorist leader.”,
Easy-E was tracking his scope across the dunes now, searching for any trace of
movement.
The Sarge had moved straight to the terrorist leader and was
checking the body with his free hand. The others had now formed a defensive
triangle around him.
“Mutha fucken cocksucking whore!” he roared. “We’ve been
played. That terrorist leader is on the loose. Who knows where the pirates are.
Ditz hold the pirate captain up in the air. Easy, that look like the Pirate
Captain to you?”
“No sir!”
The Sarge, pushed a tab on his Bluetooth squad link secure
comm. Transmission switched to include the squad on a call patched directly
through to USSCOM.
“Requesting immediate close range imagery at Alpha-One-Five-Zero.
Pan thermal for targets vacating the vicinity.”
“Confirmed, I have the sat-link; he is in egress by
motorbike back toward Mogadishu. Time to follow n bag em boys, everyone mount
up now!”
The assault team moved quickly past the burning wreckage of
the cars, and got going. The hunt was on!
Mikey began to move his scope to the left tracking the
assault team as they made their way to the car. A gigantic explosion rocked the
car to from the right. The whole car jumped a foot from the ground, as the team
dove to take cover across from the car. Diego was off to the side, and he never
saw the two pirates that came at him from behind. Five bullets, three through
the throat from the first, two through the chest from the second. Honour be,
honour thee, the others silently echoed the chant.
These weren’t your grandpa’s pirates. Their preferred choice
of weapon the humble AK-47 original. Sold out of an arms dealer with gun shop
huts along the beaches of western Yemen. The Sarge needed to act fast. Before his teams’ rage revenge motive turned
things into a blood bath. He was holed up with Ditz near the car.
The dead lifeless body of Diego was just metres away but it
might as well have been a mile. The distance cut by the field of fire from the
remaining pirates. They seemed content to keep the squad in position.
A giant ruse to keep the high tech Americans from completing
their mission. Sarge should have known the pirates and terrorists were
collaborators. The Intel had been solid for months that these two groups had
staged joint operations. The terrorists acting as buyers for some of the pirate
gangs harder to store items, and excess weaponry.
The snipers moved. The angle was useless with the pirates
camped behind the car, they would have to take out the only ride out of here to
... “Sarge what if were to take the pirates car? Do we have permission to destroy
our vehicle?”
“Do it, now!”
“Roger that.”
The snipers moved through a 90 degree field of view until
they had located all of the pirates via thermal vision. Easy relayed in advice
from his alternative angle to their right halfway down the highest dune on the
high ground facing the killing field. Ali Barba moved his right eye into
position. Focused his breathing. Stopped his breathing. Moved his right hand
with deadly precision into place. Now the kill shots. Mikey acted as spotter calling
in the changes in height and distance.
“Target acquired. Shoot to kill!” Ali’s finger curled, and
holes started to open up in the side of the car. Precision holes that the rail
gun ripped at half an inch in diameter. The effect was amazing. Crouching
bodies became falling corpses. Their cover completely comprised the remaining
pirates broke hastily from cover. Ali Barba cut two more down with another
double kill. Easy E opened up with his light machine gun as the final two
pirates ran from cover. Bullets spilled onto the dirt surrounding him, the hot gun
was throwing out metal slugs at a voluminous rate that tore through the walking
corpses of the pirates. Heads popped back, as bodies fell to the ground.
“All enemy within range of close range sat scans are
accounted for. Only the leaders of each group appear to be missing, Sarge.”,
Easy-E was back in contact with imaging.
“See if they can track down Capt’n Blackbeard. Tell ‘em
mission parameters have changed, where going after the Terrorist leader. We
believe he is in possession of the target.”
“Sarge I thought capturing the terrorist leader was the
target?”, queried Ali Barba over the comms. Already he and the other two were
jogging down the dune hill kit shouldered, Easy just ahead of them.
“This mission is top secret, even I have no idea what is in
the suitcase. Capturing that terrorist leader alive with the suitcase is our
top priority. All I know is that we got sent because the contents of that
suitcase cannot under any circumstances enter the capital Mogadishu.”
The squad were soon in hot pursuit. The car they occupied
was considerably slower than their own car, but made good progress, and,
crucially had fuel in the tank. Easy was cruisin’ with one of his RPG’s
shoulder mounted and half hanging out the rear left window. It was probably all
that saved them. Several seconds later they saw what looked like twin flares
descending at incredibly speed through a high altitude arc. Swooping lights,
with the glint of what was it thought Sarge? Steel? No!
“No!” – he screamed.
Easy-E reacted without thinking he dropped the hammer on his
RPG pointing in the direction of the flares. Massive percussion sounds exploded
in their ears. The peace of the desert was ripped apart as a fireball exploded
from within the pitch horizon. Still one to go.
The driver Ditz never even blinked as he took extreme
evasive manoeuvrers. The car swung violently to the left from the road to the flat
desert sands beyond. It raced as though the road was a snake. In truth it was.
Ditz was running full speed perpendicular to the road.
The lights were advancing through the western sky rapidly
now. Mikey spoke aloud to crack the intense and paranoiac atmosphere that was
building within the car. Surfaces seemed to drip with humidity, pulses raced.
“Aircraft, 3 o’clock. Assume approach hostile.”
Data streamed into the Sarge’s pad, the others crowded over.
Easy-E had got his other RPG out of the window. This one was
gonna have to count. Easy-E placed his weapon arm on the top of the car,
draping it across his other.. face focused on targeting the approaching lights.
Ditz drove the car, now parallel to the road and once they
were once again in pursuit of the terrorist leader.
The pad was showing disturbing images. The aircraft appeared
to be unmanned drones. Armament level was assumed to be lethal to infantry.
These must have been the unusual heat sigs registered by the high level scan
earlier mused Sarge.
The drone came screaming in.
At three hundred metres it levelled its descent. The car
started to swerve violently from side to side, moving in big twenty metre arcs.
At two hundred metres the retractable machine gun barrels
extended from their pods.
At one hundred and fifty metres the bullets started to trace
a path along the ground towards the car. Bullets chewed up the dirt in two neat
little rows as the nose of the drone dipped and then rose towards them.
One moment they were tense cats coiled inside the car, the
next two dozen bullets had crisscrossed the cabin. It was shooting fish in a
barrel and they all knew it. Incredibly only one of them was hit. Mikey took
the hits like a champ. His massive front rower body relaxed as the first two
drove deep into his chest, the back seat was suddenly awash with blood. The
final bullet was enough. It ripped right through the roof and into his skull.
“Poor damn bastard never stood a chance.”, Sarge grunted.
The others clung to his words, seeing your mate murdered in front of you was
soooo fucked. Ali Barba just kept swearing, until Sarge eventually had to give
him the look to shut it.
Easy-E was the only one not to witness the gruesome killing.
His body was tensed half hanging from the rear left window. Guiding the sights
of his RPG through a tight arc as the drone ran past its target to circle for a
another kill run. He waited, he knew he had only one chance. This was the only
weapon that could damage something moving so quickly. Even so its evasion was
superior to a regular aircraft, it had no need to slow down a human. The drone
could pull 15g’s on the fly, then back up for another change of direction time
after time. It meant he had to wait till the drone was committed to another
attack run. Just at the end of its turn arc, just about now.
“This is for Mikey you metal piece of shit”, said Easy-E as
he thumbed the trigger squeezing tight, holding steady guiding the rocket
towards its destination. The drone had just come out of its turn and was
heading back towards the car. The rocket came smack bang straight into the
front of its nose, resulting in a colossal explosion that ripped the metal bird
apart. Clearly it hadn’t just been
carrying bullets. From half a click away they could feel the warmth of the
explosion wash over them.
Terrorists leader bike 22:31:09 2.9 km north of Mogadishu
(city limits)
The terrorist leader knew he had a healthy lead on the
Americans. Even so he did not have any intention of relying on his benefactors
air support. At forty he was a veteran of the gulf wars, insurgencies in
Pakistan, Afghanistan and Palestine. He had fought in Lebanon, blown up bridges
in Syria and most recently helped with operations against the Turks. To survive
as long as he had, meant that he was a man that always planned meticulously and
then assumed the worst.
He never went anywhere now without two contingency plans.
His entire life was given over to battle, and so his every move was calculated
on the premise that his world was a battlefield. Now these Americans had got
wind of his plans. Somehow. How had they? Who had talked?
No matter it was too late now, soon, very soon from the
chaos would come a new Somalia. One.
One that was? Hmm he didn’t really know. Then his heart felt
heavy and invisible tears soaked his mind. One that was not a warzone for his
people. One that was not a living hell of starvation, or a place of casual
brutality, or of the intercine warfare or murders that were left to be unpunished.
From this lawless hell would come a new Somalia. It’s people deserved another
chance. They would be given the means to build a new society.
Knowing you were winning was never the same as winning,
unless you were Charlie Sheen the leader reflected. He ripped the throttle down
and the bike accelerated an extra five kilometres an hour to eighty kilometres.
The fastest that he dared given the sandy uneven terrain. He needed to get to
the capital before sun up.
Terrorists car 22:31:26 5.3 km north of Mogadishu
The Sarge had rolled Mikey’s body forward in the passenger
seat. He had carefully placed a poncho over the body. The mood was incredibly
sombre but also focused. These men were elite soldiers. Each knew the risks of
his chosen field. Each accepted the dangers without question. Nothing prepared
you for the gut retching feeling of sudden death.
The men sat stoically. No one had congratulated Easy-E. It
was as though they had all pulled the trigger and downed the bird. The shared
sense of revenge was all that kept Ali Barba from cursing once more.
Ditz didn’t hold back, “Fuck!! Mutha fucker has turned again
he’s heading to the northern edge of the city.”
Then the car swerved once more and was flying of a low lying
sand dune through 2 feet, before bottoming out the suspension. The bike was
somewhere ahead. The pad was feeding higher resolution pictures now that they
were in the same grid as their quarry. Alarmingly another car was approaching
on an intercept trajectory with the bike. It looked like they would meet before
the team could catch up. Ditz floored the car, desperate for extra speed. Ahead
the car and bike were drawing close.
As the Sarge watched both vehicles drew closer but never
slowed to a complete stop. The icons for each vehicle shifted slightly, Sarge
immediately order a more detailed analysis to see what had happened. A couple
of seconds later the screen updated with high resolution photos of a silver
briefcase being passed into the car. Then both were speeding off in opposite
directions.
Sarge was starting to get really suspicious, none of this
made any sense. He ordered another scan of the bike. It still had a silver
briefcase. What the hell? He wondered if the switcheroo was deliberate.
High tech drones, awareness of sat imaging, it seemed
incongruous that terrorists that fought with low tech AK’s had access to sophisticated
tech and training. Maybe command had this one all wrong. Something was missing.
Something he just couldn’t quite pinpoint. Command responsibility. The pressure
to lead. His drill instructor was on his mind.
<Drill yard, Kentucky SEAL training facility> 15 years
ago>
The voice of old Jed, “When so m-thing dohn’t loook right,
it ain’t! Now keep your eyes peeeled for Charlie.”
“Stop the car now!” Sarge ordered.
Ditz pulled over. Brakes schreeched, as he rammed his foot
onto the pedal.
“Ali Barba out.”
Ali stepped out into the cold desert sands. He removed his
kit and the car was off again. No questions only a solitary figure, trekking to
the top of the nearest king dune. By chance this happened to be in the same
direction as the departing car. The cold skittish grit kicked up from the
wheels and spat into Ali’s face. He didn’t care. He popped broad shoulders,
puffed his impressive pecs, and set off at march.
Terrorists car 22:32:45 3.5 km north of Mogadishu
“Callin’ it in Sir. We are pursuing the operative rec name
“Blackbeard” instead of the primary.” Sarge barked into his comm uplink.
“What makes you think the other car is the pirate?”
“Just a hunch” chewed out the Sarge, annoyed now at his comm
link.
“The primary target is classified shoot to kill, the
briefcase cannot fall into the wrong hands. What is your contingency?”, said an
encrypted voice.
“Yes sir. I have left my remaining sharpshooter to reccy
with chopper inbound to final point of termination.”
“Acknowledged. Chopper is inbound on gps beacon in two
minutes mark. At current speed estimate point of interception at 0.5 km from
city outskirts. Your man will have one shot only.”
“He only needs one. He’ll make it.”
“I hope so” (for your sake) Sarge finished in his head. He
then opened another channel back to Ali Barba. A secure data transmission got
him up to date.
Ali whistled softly through the link. “Even I have limits my
friend.”
Sarge thought of his friend in Australia. Now seemed to be
as good a time as ever, so he said to Ali in what he knew was a terrible Aussie
accent, “She will be right mate.”
Ali immediately lightened up.
“Sure thing Sarge” (normal self)
Sarge and Easy scanned the surroundings with their night
vision goggles whilst Ditz focused steadfastly on the road, or lack thereof
ahead. Up till now every five hundred or so metres they had been seeing small clumps
of desert bush but not much else.
Suddenly they were closing in on the pirate vessel. The
pirate car screeched around. Taking a massive right turn on the desert floor.
Ditz let them get close then slammed hard on the brakes. Both cars were at
standoff one hundred metres apart. The US soldiers stayed relaxed and in their
vehicle, while the motley crew inhabiting the other car quickly dispersed.
But it would be completely wrong to say that those soldiers
had been lazy or brazenly stupid. They were simply extremely cunning.
Quite intentionally Ditz slammed the manual gear stick into the
lower right of the H working the pads so that the car positively leapt
backwards. As the team made steady distance away from their quarry, the quarry
in turn took chase in pursuit.
Thus set the trap was sprung, the explosives left by hand to
detonate did so. And in the ensuing aftermath men still walked albeit dazed in
stupor. The US team had deployed chemical grenades. They were taught during
classified sessions that targets would be “Doey” once overcome and could then
be subdued. This proved the case. Only
the leader of the crew who had been standing back somewhat distant seemed
unsubdued. Instead he was cackling like a madman.
The leader laughed as Ditz tackled him to the ground.
“What’s so funny you dirtbag?” Ditz screamed at him, he
wanted to say “You killed my friend. You fuckbag why did you do it?” but he
knew he wouldn’t.
The pirate just stared at him with a smile in reply. Ditz
pushed away from him and grabbed hold of a silver suitcase that he had been
holding in his left hand. He flung it back towards Easy, he then used that arm
to spin the pirate around. He deftly pulled both arms up at the elbow into a
nelson lock.
The pirate started to laugh again.
“Infidels!”
Easy went about opening the case. In so many tens of seconds
his electronic wrist tool had already cracked the lock. The case opened under
its own motion. Inside was ten million US dollars. At least Easy-E was pretty
sure you couldn’t fit any more cash inside. Sarge whistled toothlessly.
“What a fortune ai boys?”
Easy snapped the case back shut and retreated to the car.
Throwing the case on the backseat, he pulled out his machine gun.
Sarge said to the pirate,
“Unless you want my boy here to toast all your dazed looking
comrades, I suggest you unload with us on what the fuck is going on.”
The pirate sneered back,
“You’re picking on the wrong players Sergeant. My people died
for this country, and will continue to do so until you are all gone.”
“Sorry not interested”, Sarge sounded flat.
“Boys give me your comms.” They did so. He stomped all three
sets into the dirt. Busted tech good no more.
“Kill them all Easy!”
“What! No, you cannot do what you say?!?” screamed the
pirate leader. His eyes were white with naked fear. His legs trembled. Suddenly
his seaborne cockiness evaporated.
Easy-E held his machine gun two handed dominant position
pointing down at this targets. It was a heavier grip to master. He squeezed the
trigger briefly, bullets spat down at the leaders feet.
“Ok! Just please do not kill. Come I will show you.”
The others hustled him to the car as Easy went about using
the butt of his weapon to knock the other pirates unconscious. Driving back to
base, a relaxed Easy-E sat back on the seat, stretched his muscled frame and reflected
that now was the perfect opportunity to see whether his buddies would object to
a few US denaros going missing between here and base.
Chopper, 22:38:01 0.55 km from outer city districts of
Mogadishu
It was coming in low, really low. Ali was perched ready to
respond. The clear night made the game so electric he thought. The bike rider
ahead was speeding on looking straight ahead. The chopper slowed and rotated
slightly to give him a full field of view. His gun arm adjusted and he used his
knees as stabilisers.
The rifles thermal scope registered the target. The target
bobbed up and down constantly due to slight variations of movement from the
chopper and the extreme distance of the shot. Breathing out he held his breath
and calmly squeezed the shot. The terrorist leader was spun from his bike. He flew
head over heels, rag dolling towards the ground. The bike ditched into the hard
sands, along with its cargo.
Without thinking he grabbed a rope already attached to the
side of the cargo bay and flung himself from the chopper. Because they were so
low, by the time he came to a stop half way down the rope he was nearly at the
bottom. He broke fall landing lightly and immediately began sprinting towards
the bike.
At that moment, noises went off in the cockpit and the pilot
began screaming about incoming missiles. Down below Ali could only suspect that this
too had been a trap. But he had no time to lose, this silver suitcase needed to
be returned. He climbed aboard the bike, dropped the clutch and gunned it back
towards the open desert.
The chopper exploded in mid air. Its flaming wreckage tore
from the sky and came crashing down towards the ground troops. They fired
impotently past the wreck into the night, at the faint sound of a dirt bike at
maximum engine revs.
Desert floor, 22:45:03 0.5 km from outer city districts of
Mogadishu
Elements of the Deadly Eastern Wind gang moved back towards Hamid’s
body. The terrorist leader had been in charge of a team of ten originally. Now
only two were left. Such was the burden of operational success reflected the
leader Urqa. The remaining men would be reassigned to other important missions.
Some would not return. It was as Allah willed it.
Hamid’s last request to Urqa had been to check his body. A
slightly odd request but one that Urqa obeyed. He had his men carefully pickup
the dead body of Hamid and bring it with them. As they went to pick him up, Urqa
reached down and pushed his left hand through Hamid’s jacket.
“Allah be blessed!”, Urqa was in shock.
It was the object Hamid had been after. So, it was not in
the silver suitcase after all thought Urqa. Hamid’s last act of defiance
against the soldiers had been to secret the object on his person. Urqa smiled
picking it up carefully and wrapping it in his own jacket.
“We return to Mogadishu at once! Ride out and summon
everyone immediately. I don’t care if you have to wake them up, assemble
everyone at once.”
Men dispersed to the four corners of the city, while Urqa
and a small band of elite cadre walked back towards the city centre.