Inside the Wire, page 12
“So, what do you think?” Atlas asked his diminutive friend.
“I give the cargo a fifty-fifty chance.”
“And them?”
Niner shrugged. “If that barrier saves these people’s lives, then they’ll have died heroes.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then they’ll just be two more names on a forgotten list, just like us.”
Atlas frowned at his normally chipper friend. “You’re pessimistic today.”
Niner glanced over his shoulder at the terrified civilians. “I’m just wondering if I want to bring a child into a world where shit like this happens.”
Atlas’ eyes shot wide. “You and Angela are already talking children?”
Niner’s eyes bulged. “Hell no! That’s way too soon. But this is the first time I’ve been in a relationship that I could see potentially working out, so it gets you thinking. You and Vanessa have been together way longer than Angela and I. You must have had these discussions.”
“We have.”
“And?”
“Well, you remember her reaction when she found out what I did for a living. She’s still pretty paranoid about it. So, for the moment, we’ve agreed that any type of family plans, including marriage, are on hold until she gets her career going.”
Niner regarded him. “Do you think she’ll ever come around?”
Atlas shrugged. “I hope so, because no kids is a deal-breaker for me.”
“And your mama.”
Atlas chuckled. “Oh yeah, if I don’t give her grandbabies, she’ll never speak to me again.”
“Has Vanessa ever said she wants kids?”
“Oh, she definitely wants kids, that’s not the problem. She’s just worried about the kids growing up without a father.”
They both turned as gunfire rattled nearby and another RPG launched skyward as the Chinook and its cargo positioned overhead. Atlas sighed. “Something tells me the whole question of when we’re having kids could be a moot point if we don’t get this barrier.”
Niner slapped him on the back. “Well, if we’re going to die, at least we’re dying together, exactly how I always imagined it.”
Atlas eyeballed him. “Really? I always imagined being there when you died, but only because I shot you for crossing the line one time too many.” His comms squawked. “Zero-Seven, Control. I’m patching you through to Roo Wrangler so you can guide them in, over.”
“Copy that, Control. You’re a go for Roo Wrangler.”
“G’day mate, is that the Wakandan Hulk’s voice I’m hearing?”
Atlas laughed, as did Niner, punching his friend on the arm. “Wakandan Hulk. I’m using that.”
“That’s an affirmative, Roo Wrangler. Did you pick your own callsign or did Langley see a photo of your girlfriend?”
Ledger laughed. “Mate, we’re going to have words when I get on the ground.”
Atlas stared up at them. “And just how do you plan on doing that?”
Ledger became serious. “I’m going to cut power and autorotate her down. I’m going to be too busy trying to keep this thing under control to keep an eye on the ground, so I need you to tell me if I’m going off course and how to adjust. And the first time you see an RPG coming in that might have a chance of hitting us, we’d appreciate it if you’d give it a mention.”
“Copy that, Roo Wrangler, we’ll keep an eye on the skies for you.”
“Appreciate it, beginning our insertion now.”
Atlas flagged down Buhari. “Sergeant Major, I need four good sets of eyes that speak English perfectly.”
Buhari pointed at four men, snapping orders. They rushed over to Atlas and Niner.
“Yes, Sergeant, what do you need?” asked one of them.
Atlas pointed up at the chopper. “I need eyes on the sky in all four directions. Watch for rockets that might actually reach the helicopter. If you see one, even if you’re not sure, I want you to shout, ‘Incoming from the north!’ or whatever direction you’re covering”—he pointed at each of them—“north, south, east, west. You see one that you think could hit the helicopter, you shout it loud and proud, got it?”
“Yes, Sergeant!” they echoed then broke off in their assigned directions, encircling the landing zone.
Atlas glanced at Niner. “Your head on a swivel. If one of those guys calls out a shot, make your own assessment and radio it in with your recommendation. I’m going to be too busy standing right under this twenty-thousand pounds of cargo.”
“You don’t plan on catching it, do you?”
“The thought had occurred to me.”
“Here goes nothing,” said Ledger as he cut the power to the rotors, RPGs continuing to streak below them. He pointed at the countermeasures. “The moment you hear them announce something incoming, you hit that button and leave it on. I want to make it as difficult as possible for those wankers to get a bead on us.”
“Got it.” Clarke tightened his belts and positioned his fingers around the panel, his index finger hovering over the button that just might save their lives.
“Control and everyone else listening in, here we go.”
The chopper had already begun the drop before he informed the world, the airframe shaking as the rate of their descent increased.
Clarke glanced at him. “You do realize this is one of the dumber things we’ve ever done?”
Ledger gripped the controls tighter. “One of? If you can name a single other time I’ve done something stupider, I’m buying you a case of Vegemite.”
38 |
South of FOB Ugurun, Nigeria
Dawson and Sunday sprinted toward the next target, a cluster of five hostiles in the opposite direction of their abandoned motorcycles. An RPG streaked skyward and Dawson glanced up over his shoulder to see the chopper behind them making its descent.
“Zero-One, Control. One hundred meters directly ahead, over.”
“Copy that, Control.”
“Zero One, the chopper is about to be within range and it looks like your guys have four more RPGs. Suggest you hurry, over.”
Dawson rolled his eyes. It wasn’t Leroux on the other end of the line, it was one of the minions. So much was going on right now, he had no doubt that Leroux and Tong, the two most experienced people in that operations center, were too busy coordinating things. “Thanks for the suggestion, Control.” He glanced over at Sunday. “Our eyes in the sky suggest we hurry.”
Sunday laughed as they continued to sprint forward. “Only Olusoji Fasuba could be running faster than we are now.”
Dawson’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“Famous Nigerian sprinter.”
“Ah. Well, it wouldn’t do me much good.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m having a hard enough time keeping up with you, you bastard.”
The younger and apparently fitter Sunday roared with laughter. “Maybe if you weren’t wearing all that gear, you could keep up easier.”
Dawson glanced at the flimsy fatigues his partner was wearing, not a shred of body armor to protect him. “I’d sacrifice speed over body armor any day.”
“And I would prefer to be able to run away as fast as I can.”
Dawson spotted their targets ahead and became all business. “Eleven o’clock. Five hostiles.” He raised his weapon, as did Sunday, and they continued to sprint forward. There was no cover between them and the enemy, but at the moment, all five men were staring skyward, no one noticing their mistake was about to cost them their lives.
Another RPG streaked toward the Chinook and the man who had fired it momentarily took his eyes off his efforts as he tossed the spent launcher onto the ground. And spotted them. Dawson stopped and opened fire, squeezing the trigger on his assault rifle, single shot, left to right. Another missile launched just as Dawson took out the man responsible, and moments later, all five were down. He stared at the smoke trail streaking toward the chopper, now much lower than the last time he had looked. Ledger was bringing it down fast and hard, and unfortunately for him, it meant he was now in range.
39 |
FOB Ugurun, Nigeria
“Incoming from the south!” shouted one of the sentries.
Niner spun, spotting the trail of spent propellant and cursed as he activated his comms. “Incoming from the south,” he reported. “Adjust to port. Repeat, adjust to port.” There was no time for callsigns or proper protocol. Every millisecond counted.
The crackling of chaff and the hiss of flares deploying filled their ears. Niner stared up to see the brilliant display overhead as the chopper continued to drop, banking to the left slightly. The rocket continued to streak toward the chopper then blasted past, falling to the ground beyond the fence line. The warhead exploded with a brilliant flash and Niner activated his comms. “Roo Wrangler, you’re all clear.”
“Copy that, Ground. Requesting you have fresh underwear ready upon our landing.”
Niner laughed. “Negative, Roo Wrangler, no clean underwear available. However, you’re welcome to mine.”
“Commando it is, but break out the hose. I think my partner here is going to need to be sprayed down. Powering up now, I recommend everyone keep a safe distance. This is going to be a shit-show.”
Ledger sent as much power as he could toward the rotors, the roar of the engines growing as more horsepower was generated, but with the weight of the massive airframe and the 20,000 pounds of cargo underneath it, Sir Isaac Newton continued to drag them toward impending doom.
Clarke gripped anything he could as he white-knuckled it. “Screw the Vegemite. This is by far the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”
Ledger gripped the controls, staring at the altimeter as it wound down at far too rapid a pace. “I’m glad we’re finally in agreement.” As they continued to hurtle toward the ground, he closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, not for himself, not for Clarke, but for those below whom he had failed.
“Open your bloody eyes, ya tosser! What are you trying to do? Kill us?”
Ledger opened his eyes and gave his friend a look. “I’ve already done that.”
The Chinook chose that moment to make a liar of him and he roared with glee as the rattle of the airframe smoothed out. Their descent slowed as the rotors finally had enough speed to provide them with some lift. He punched Clarke on the shoulder. “You crazy bastard! We might just survive this!”
Clarke stared at him wide-eyed. “Who the hell are you calling crazy, ya slagger? The only thing I’ve done that’s crazy is agree to partner up with you.”
“Yeah, but doesn’t it make you feel alive?”
“I can feel alive sitting in my recliner in front of the idiot box and not be wondering just how many more seconds of life I have left. When this is over, you and I are having words about volunteering my arse for missions.”
Ledger continued to battle the Chinook as their descent gradually slowed. “There are plenty of other airlines that I’m sure would be happy to hire someone as unqualified as you.”
“Incoming from the north. Adjust to starboard,” reported the ground team over the satphone now on speaker. Ledger guided them slightly to the right, sensing the resistance of the massive cargo below.
“I can’t believe you still call this thing an airline. We’re one bloody plane.”
Ledger flashed him a grin. “One plane and a helicopter. In just one day, we doubled in size.”
“You’re right, I forgot. We’re a two-aircraft airline with half its fleet stolen from the US Army, the other half held as collateral. And they just might send you the bill if you pancake us.”
“If I pancake us, the bill is the least of our worries.” Ledger jutted his chin at the altimeter. “We might just survive this. If we’re arrested, I’m telling them you made me do it.”
Clarke flipped him the bird as the Chinook rocked from the explosion of the RPG. “Must have caught a flare or something.”
“Or something.”
The voice from below crackled with a new warning. “Incoming from the east and north. Suggest adjusting forward to port and praying.”
Ledger growled as he eyed the altimeter. “Perhaps I spoke too soon.”
“Ya think?”
“Get ready to cut that cable then hang on. It doesn’t look like Uncle Sam is getting a functional chopper back.”
40 |
South of FOB Ugurun, Nigeria
Ibrahim cursed yet again as another RPG fell to the ground uselessly. “Stop wasting the rockets! We need to get closer!” he hissed, those nearer the action obviously unable to hear his critique of their efforts. The chopper was too high to hit. If his men would simply get closer while it descended, they could make them count. It was the biggest helicopter he had ever seen, two massive rotors overhead with what appeared to be a sea container dangling far below it. He had to guess at least fifty reinforcements could be in the chopper itself, and if he were to assume the container was filled with weapons and ammo, then they could be in for one hell of a fight.
They had to take it down in a ball of fire—either the chopper or the cargo. Destroy the weapons and ammo, then it didn’t matter how many more men you brought in if they had nothing to shoot with. Eliminate the reinforcements, then it didn’t matter how much ammo was brought in because there were only so many fingers to pull the triggers. Either would keep the odds heavily in their favor, but if they failed, it would make their attack that much more difficult, and they might need to delay until more warriors could be assembled.
Yet he couldn’t delay it for long. The attack had to be finished by tonight. Reports indicated a large column of Nigerian troops were already on their way here, and the US Army markings on this helicopter indicated the Americans were committing, though apparently not fully. Any commander with access to the firepower the Americans had would have sent in gunships along with the heavy transport. Leaving it defenseless like this made no sense. Then again, a lot of what he was seeing didn’t make sense. For example, why could he see those propellers rotating when they should be moving so fast, it would be a blur? Why was it dropping out of the sky so rapidly, it appeared to be out of control? Something strange was going on here, but what it was didn’t matter. All that mattered was taking down that chopper.
He gunned his engine, taking the ditch around a felled tree and leaping back onto the road, the worn suspension providing little relief from the impact. But he didn’t care. Discomfort mattered not in the fight against the infidel. They were at the outskirts of the village now, a village he intended to wipe from existence, and he came to a halt along with the others. Rockets continued to streak, most uselessly, but he was close enough now for a clear shot at the helicopter. Gunfire rattled around them, suggesting those on the base had sent forces outside their chain-link fence in an attempt to engage his men and protect their helicopter. It made sense. It was what he would do if he ever had access to those types of weapons.
But it also meant he had to be careful. There was no way he wanted to die here today and leave the organization in the hands of the likes of Lawan. Lawan had to die and had to die soon, but he couldn’t just shoot him. He had to do something different. It had to either look like an accident, look like somebody from outside, or something justifiable. Could he perhaps frame him for something? Shoot him, then plant some evidence on him to make it appear as if he were a traitor? That would be the best way. If Lawan died an innocent man, he could become a martyr, and his supporters would rally behind a memory.
And memories could sometimes be impossible to fight.
No, he had to discredit the man so the memory left behind would be tainted, would be something not to be rallied around, and instead, those who supported him would be forced to admit they were misled, and to instead join him fully rather than tacitly.
It was something to worry about later.
He peered at the chopper, chaff and flares deploying uselessly if his understanding of how an RPG worked was correct. The weapon slung over his shoulder wasn’t heat seeking. You aimed, fired, and hoped it reached the target. All the deployed countermeasures seemed to be doing was making it hard to pick out the chopper from within all the smoke.
One thing was certain. They were within range.
Lawan fired his RPG and it went wildly off course. He tossed the spent launcher. “Piece of shit! I’m getting my money back on that.”
Ibrahim chuckled. “I’ve never met an arms dealer who offers a money-back guarantee.”
“Then I’ll cut out his tongue so he can never make another deal.”
Ibrahim watched as another rocket failed to reach its target, this one somehow detonating close, perhaps hit by a lucky flare. He pressed the launcher against his shoulder and aimed at the chopper. He was about to squeeze the trigger when he thought better of it and instead adjusted his aim, pointing the rocket at an extremely high angle.
“What are you doing?” asked Lawan.
“Trying something different.” He squeezed the trigger and the rocket launched, racing skyward, far above the chopper, and Lawan laughed.
“Have you never fired one of those before?”
Ibrahim ignored him, instead continuing to follow the upward trajectory. His heart hammered as the propellant ran out and the rocket tipped then fell back to Earth. He was about to either appear the fool or the genius, and as the warhead picked up speed in its descent, he tossed the launcher aside and stared as Lawan muttered an appreciative curse.
His gamble might just be about to pay off.
41 |
FOB Ugurun, Nigeria
Niner winced as the RPG detonated between the large Chinook and its heavy container, having dropped in from above in a high arc, someone out there employing a different tactic.
Atlas cursed. “Man, I think that one bounced off the cable.”
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