The use of the code word ‘Irene’ had brought back memories from when he was younger, watching the movie Black Hawk Down, and years later reviewing the news coverage of the disaster in Mogadishu and how the enemy had dragged the bodies of the American dead through the streets. It was something he couldn’t imagine American troops doing, and it showed to him at an impressionable young age the difference between the civilized and the uncivilized.

  Yet there were limits, and his smile spread wide as the other two terrorists were revealed, their bodies aflame. He felt no guilt about killing these people, nor in celebrating their deaths for a brief moment.

  But he would never dance on their graves.

  “That’s three!” shouted Child, thrusting his hands in the air and spinning.

  Leroux straightened, allowing the display for the moment. “Good work people. Sonya, pass my thanks on to Drone Control. Now, let’s get back to work. We spotted those three, there may be more.”

  45 |

  FOB Hadejia, Nigeria

  Wings said a silent prayer then flicked the switch, a smile spreading as the engine of the old Huey roared to life, the rotors overhead beginning to turn. But he didn’t declare victory yet. He monitored all the indicators, watching for anything wrong, but everything continued to show as nominal. He applied more power and the blades overhead pounded at the air, the entire craft vibrating just as it should.

  Man, they sure don’t make them like they used to.

  He waved at his Nigerian partner to get clear, and the man scrambled out of the way as Wings lifted off, did a quick ring of the base, then landed, satisfied the repair had been successful. He powered down and hopped out. “Top off the fuel,” he said to his grinning partner who gave him a high-five.

  Wings walked over to his gear piled nearby as he wiped his hands on a cloth. He was filthy, covered in grease and worse, but he didn’t give a shit about that. The job was done. He fit his comms back in place. “Zero-Two, this is One-Two. Come in, over.”

  “Go ahead, One-Two.”

  “Zero-Two, the Huey has a heartbeat. We’re refueling her now. Estimated departure, less than ten minutes.”

  “Copy that, One-Two. Coordinate with Control for our current position and check with our hosts to see if they have more chainsaws. We have the manpower but not enough tools to clear this road.”

  “Copy that, Zero-Two. I’ll check on that for you. Anything else you need me to bring?”

  “Negative, One-Two. Just get your ass here as fast as you can so we can get in this fight.”

  “I’m on my way. One-Two, out.” He headed toward the headquarters and spotted the base commander standing on the plywood steps.

  “I see you got her working,” said Colonel Kalgo.

  Wings came to a halt in front of the man, standing at ease with his hands clasped behind his back. “Yes, sir. With the right parts and good help, anything’s possible when it comes to helicopter repair.”

  Kalgo chuckled. “I could use a man like you in my command.”

  Wings smiled. “If I ever decide to switch allegiances, I’ll consider it.”

  Kalgo roared with laughter. “Good answer, son. Good answer.” He nodded toward the helicopter being refueled. “What are your intentions?”

  “My second-in-command has requested as many chainsaws as you can spare to help in the clearing of the roads. With your permission, I’ll deliver those, pick up the rest of my team and as many of yours that can fit in the chopper, and bring them to the FOB. And I’ll repeat that journey as many times as I can until the situation is resolved.”

  “We’ve already lost two choppers. What makes you think you can make it in?”

  “They were lost because they weren’t prepared for what they were facing. Now we know and, frankly, sir, I have far more experience flying in combat than I suspect most of your pilots have.”

  “You guarantee you’ll bring her back in one piece?”

  Wings decided it was best not to lie to the man. “Negative, sir. I could lie to you and say yes, but I think you and I both know the risks. All I can promise you is that I will try my damnedest to help save those villagers.”

  “Understood, Sergeant. The Nigerian Army is pleased to grant you permission to pilot its helicopter in this matter.”

  Wings snapped to attention and saluted the man. “Thank you, sir.”

  The salute was returned and Kalgo flagged down a nearby lieutenant. “Yes, Colonel?”

  “Get as many chainsaws as we have and load them on that chopper.”

  “Right away, sir.” The lieutenant sprinted off to one of the nearby storage buildings.

  Kalgo turned to reenter his command post when he paused. “Oh, and Sergeant?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Tell your people that I’m sending another one hundred men with heavy weapons and supplies within the hour. If they can hold out, we’ll get to them. They just need to hold.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll pass it on.”

  Kalgo stepped inside and Wings headed for the latrine to take care of business before he flew out of here, since with what he expected ahead, he had no idea when he would get another opportunity. The sense of accomplishment he felt at getting the chopper working, and the excitement rippling through him at the mission ahead, reminded him yet again of why he loved this job. He could die tonight fighting to save hundreds of innocents, or he could be hit by a bus tomorrow buying a churro from a street vendor.

  Certainly, the odds were astronomically different, but that wasn’t the point. Everyone was going to die, some in their beds asleep in the winter of life, others uselessly in a car accident, killed by a drunk. And while he would prefer to grow old and meet the grandchildren that were far in his future, he was comforted in knowing that should he die today, on this mission in particular, those grandchildren would be proud to call him Pop-Pop despite never having met him. Knowing that he was fighting on the side of right, of freedom, of mercy, was how he could go into battle, prepared to die for those he loved while still fighting to live for the same reason.

  And while today’s cause might be a good one to die for, it was an even better one to survive for.

  46 |

  FOB Ugurun, Nigeria

  Atlas brought the loader to a halt, dumping another load of dirt before disappearing yet again. There had been just enough fencing to do the job, and it would have been more than enough if they hadn’t been forced to enclose the sand pile. But this would have to do. If they could indeed fill in the critical areas to at least half-height before any action began, they stood a chance.

  Buhari jogged up to Dawson. “The villagers want to help. Is there anything they can do?”

  Dawson pushed up on his toes and peered out past the barrier, the tree line having been shoved back dramatically. There was no longer a need to bring in the felled trees—it would be too much work with the barrier now in the way. But there was something that would keep them busy and potentially prove useful.

  He pointed at the sandbagged positions. “The barrier is now the defensive perimeter. Let’s get all these sandbags inside the new wire. We’ll use them to set up protective positions on top of the buildings so we can lay fire on the tree line.”

  Buhari nodded. “Consider it done.” He rushed toward a group of villagers and within moments, scores of men and women headed out from behind the barrier, putting their lives at risk to save their family and friends.

  It was a scene that warmed Dawson’s heart, but had him questioning whether he would ever see the same back home, where his country was so divided. He feared there would be two barriers going up, one painted red, the other blue, where protection was granted based upon who you voted for and not whether you had been a good neighbor for the past twenty years. His country was in trouble, in serious trouble. He just prayed every night that the civil war potentially coming never came, because killing fellow Americans in defense of the Constitution wasn’t what he had signed up for.

  Niner jogged over and tapped his ear. “I take it you heard Wings is on his way?”

  “Yeah, I monitored that.”

  “We might have some more help in less than an hour, but only if he doesn’t get shot out of the sky like the others.”

  Dawson nodded. “Yeah, I was thinking about that. I think we need a secondary LZ.”

  Niner stomped his foot and threw his head back. “Argh, why do you always think of my good ideas before I get to say them?”

  Dawson shrugged. “I’m older and wiser.”

  “And don’t forget handsomer,” said Spock, as he strolled up to join them. “What are we talking about?”

  “Oh, just how Niner’s always behind the eight ball.”

  “Yeah, it’s a wonder he’s still in the Unit.”

  Niner flipped them both the bird. “Anyway, as I was going to suggest but BD beat me to the punch, we should set up a secondary LZ with direct road access to here. Take two of the transports, refuel them, and they can be used to shuttle men and equipment between here and there. We have Langley monitor things from the air to make sure nobody’s getting too close, and if they do, we switch the LZ. Each time they come in if we have to.”

  Dawson’s head bobbed in agreement with Niner’s plan that pretty much mirrored his own.

  “What about evacuating the civilians?” asked Spock.

  Dawson shook his head. “Not on the first run. We need to see what happens. If we can safely get a second run in, then we’ll consider it. But we should try to get the wounded out.” He swatted Niner on the chest. “It’s your idea so you coordinate it.”

  Niner grinned. “Soon we won’t need you on missions.”

  “I’ll always be needed. If I’m not here, who’s going to play referee between you and Atlas?” Dawson activated his comms. “Control, this is Zero-One. Prepare for communication from One-One. He’ll be coordinating the inbound chopper, over.”

  “Copy that, Zero-One. Awaiting communication from One-One.”

  “It’s all yours,” said Dawson to Niner. “I’ll let Sergeant Major Buhari know.”

  Atlas rolled by, filling another segment of the barrier, his shirt, along with his body armor, sitting in a nearby pile, his skin gleaming with sweat, his chiseled physique on full display. Niner gave the man a wolf whistle and Dawson had to chuckle as Atlas expertly reversed the loader while flipping a bird over his shoulder.

  Atlas roared back toward the pile of dirt at the far end of the camp. At this pace, they would run out of time long before Boko Haram would arrive. They needed to buy some time. Every bucketful provided more desperately needed cover.

  Spock regarded him. “I know that look. What’s bothering you?”

  “The clock. The biggest concentration of the enemy is only a twenty-minute ride from here. If they find out about this, about what we’re doing, they could put almost two-hundred men around this installation inside of half an hour.”

  “But the fact they haven’t suggests they don’t know yet. There’s not much we can do about it, but I would have to think if there was anybody within sight of this place with a radio, they would have already called it in.”

  “Agreed.”

  They both stood back as a line of villagers walked past with sandbags from the main gate. The spirit of these people was indomitable. Their fear was evident, but so was their determination to not just roll over and accept their fate. At the opposite end of the compound, at least twenty women were firing weapons for probably the first time in their lives, weapons they had just been trained to use, giving them a fighting chance against the horde that could be on its way at any moment. If these people were willing to fight to the death, then it was his moral obligation to do whatever he could to give them another option. He needed to give them every chance to fight to survive.

  And he had an idea how he might just buy the time needed to give them that chance.

  47 |

  En Route to FOB Ugurun, Nigeria

  Wings landed the chopper with a gentle bounce. He had flown pretty much anything imaginable during his career, including state-of-the-art Black Hawks and Apaches, and even the best America’s enemies had to offer. Yet there was something about a classic that brought a smile. It brought back memories of watching movies about the Vietnam War and how the helicopter had redefined it. Classics like The Green Berets, Platoon, or even We Were Soldiers were favorites. All were stories about the same period but made in different eras, the jingoistic John Wayne classic versus the critical Platoon versus the reflective We Were Soldiers that so poignantly reminded the viewer that many of those men had families back home with wives and children. It reminded him of how, just as with the beginning of the Vietnam war when America was ill-prepared for the inevitable casualties, so too was the America of twenty years ago, when it went into Afghanistan then Iraq. No one could have imagined they would be there so long, nor the price ultimately paid by the men and women lost, and the incalculable damage done to their families and fellow comrades that survived.

  Today, he was in a country most people couldn’t find on a map if their life depended on it, fighting to protect those whom he had nothing in common with beyond the fact they were all human beings. And despite the overwhelming odds, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else he’d rather be than right here, right now. Though, perhaps, right here, right now, in a loaded to bear gunship might be a little better.

  A relieved Red, soaked in sweat, waved at him as he idled the engines. Wings opened the door and stepped out, then slid open the side door. “I’ve got chainsaws, courtesy Colonel Kalgo!”

  Smiles broke out among the Nigerians and they rushed forward, grabbing the precious cargo, the high-pitched whines filling the air as they were quickly put to work on a large tree blocking the road. Red and the others grabbed their gear from the back of one of the transport trucks and joined him, tossing their equipment in the back.

  Red glanced up at the rotors. “So, she’s safe?”

  Wings shrugged. “I flew her.”

  “That’s not much of an answer, but it’ll have to do. She’s safe, though, for a full load?”

  “I’d fly in her before I’d drive a certain British sportscar. She could probably use a complete overhaul, but what can’t on this continent? She’s an old girl, but she’ll get us there.”

  “Good.” Red raised a hand. “Sergeant Akintan, we’ve got room for six plus a few cases of ammo.”

  Akintan gave him a thumbs-up, barking orders, and a few minutes later a healthy load of ammo was sitting in the rear of the chopper along with eleven sweaty, stinky men.

  Wings shook his head as he scrunched his nose and lifted off. “You guys stink to high heaven. We should just drop you on the enemy. They’ll surrender for sure.”

  Red glanced at him from the copilot seat. “You’re no bed of roses yourself, Sergeant.”

  “How the hell can you tell over your own stench?” Wings banked to the east, making a direct line for Dawson and the others.

  “Zero-Two, Zero-One. Come in, over.”

  Red activated his comms as Wings and the others listened in on their own earpieces. “Go ahead, Zero-One.”

  “Status?”

  “We’re on the chopper. All six of my team plus six Nigerians with weapons and three cases of ammo.”

  “Good. I’ve got new orders for you.”

  “Am I going to like them?”

  Wings turned back and grinned at the others. “My money is on no.”

  “I can tell you the Colonel will hate them,” said Dawson.

  Red smiled. “Those are just the kind of orders I love.”

  48 |

  Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  Leroux’s eyes narrowed as he exchanged a puzzled look with Tong. “Can you repeat your last, Zero-One?”

  Dawson complied, confirming they had all heard his request properly. “I want you to take that Reaper and fly it around their primary staging area, low enough that they can all see it.”

  “To what end?”

  “I’m redirecting Team Two and the chopper south of the primary staging area. We need to buy some time, so I intend to toy with them. We’ll need to time this perfectly so I’ll need your people to be sharp. I don’t want to lose another chopper full of good people if it can be avoided.”

  “Understood, Zero-One, we’ll be ready.”

  “Copy that. I’ll provide you with the full details shortly. Zero-One, out.”

  Child spun in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “My God, if he doesn’t want to lose another chopper full of men, why in the hell is he putting them in the middle of ground zero? And what does he think a dozen guys can do against what, the two-hundred-fifty that are there now?”

  Leroux scratched his chin as he puzzled out Dawson’s thinking. Right now, the terrorists assumed they had the upper hand simply through numbers. They had taken down two choppers in spectacular fashion, and while the third had landed, it wasn’t going anywhere. Not to mention the fact the roads were still out. In Boko Haram’s mind, everyone that was a threat was trapped on the base. Minor projections of force in the immediate vicinity wouldn’t have been a surprise to them, and he had found over the years that fundamentalists valued life in a very different way, so losing men to the cause in an attempt to kill their so-called enemy was acceptable. They would move in with overwhelming force and simply keep firing until everyone was dead, and if that included themselves, most of them wouldn’t mind, their twisted and deluded version of Heaven enough to excuse the fact they had failed.

 

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