Inside the Wire, page 17
Dawson chewed his cheek for a moment. “What kind of care does he need?”
“He needs plenty of water, should try to eat something to keep his strength up, and needs to stay put. Also, the bruising needs to be monitored, though like I said, even if it gets significantly worse, there’s nothing I can really do here.”
“So, he needs a babysitter.”
Niner laughed. “Yeah, I suppose he does.”
“I’ll be back.” Dawson left the infirmary and headed outside. He flagged down Buhari, directing the final touches on their rooftop sandbagged positions.
“What do you need, Sergeant Major?”
“I need two nurses.”
Buhari’s eyebrows shot up. “Nurses?”
“To watch Wings. He needs to stay lying down, plenty of water and food, and a bruise monitored. Niner can explain it all. Check with the villagers and see if you can get a couple of volunteers.”
Buhari nodded. “You’ve got it.” He headed into the thick of the civilians, huddled behind a segment of completed barrier. Atlas had been working nonstop, and the time they had bought by tricking the enemy had proved invaluable. They now had enough of the barrier filled that as long as they could keep Boko Haram on the other side of it, they might just hold out. His concern was grenades. They had found a few in the weapons caches they had confiscated, which suggested their foes had access to them. They would need to keep the enemy as far back as possible, and pray they had poor throwing arms.
Dawson joined Red, confabbing nearby with the others. He indicated the rooftop gun nests. “I want you to inspect those positions. Make sure our friends have done the job right, then I want one of our guys in each nest with two MP4s just in case one fails, and plenty of ammo. Anybody who gets too close needs to be taken out, just in case they have a grenade. We can protect these people against anything fired horizontally, but if it’s tossed over, we’re screwed.”
Red agreed. “With the tree line pushed back as far as you got it, that should help. We were just discussing tactics. Do you have a moment?”
“Yes.”
“Well, with ammo at a premium, and with Langley now estimating we could be facing over four hundred, I was thinking there’s almost no way we can hold them off. If they weren’t firing back, sure, half a dozen of our guys on the rooftop could pick them off one-by-one pretty quickly, but as soon as they start returning fire, we’ll be spending most of our time keeping our heads down.”
“True. What has the brain trust come up with?”
Spock cocked an eyebrow. “Were we just insulted?”
Dawson chuckled. “Never.”
Red pointed at one of the barrier segments that hadn’t been filled yet. “We’ve got those fifty cals that the Nigerians had ringing the base, and they had plenty of ammo. I’m thinking we put those to use, but in a little bit of an unconventional way.”
And as Dawson listened, a smile slowly spread. The idea was definitely unconventional, but if it worked, and that was a big ‘if,’ it could catch Boko Haram by surprise, and significantly thin their numbers in short order.
If it worked.
57 |
Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
“We’ve got movement!” announced Tong, and the entire operations center paused what they were doing, staring up at the screen. Scores of motorcycles, most doubled-up, were racing from all three rally points. The latest estimates were that almost 500 hostiles had gathered, a small portion of the thousands upon thousands in the extended region.
But this was going down tonight.
If it extended into several days, those thousands might make it into the fray, but Leroux was convinced this would be over by morning—everyone in that camp and in that village would be dead by then.
The Hail Mary initiated by Morrison had produced nothing, at least not yet. It was out of his hands, and there was no way for him to even ask for an update. Kane wouldn’t know. Couldn’t know. It was in the hands of the fabled Gray Network, an association of retired spies from various countries, allied to maintain peace when governments couldn’t.
A noble idea, and from what he had seen of them, effective.
But so far, not tonight.
The front loader was still racing up and down the length of the FOB, Atlas now putting second loads in many of the key segments, and something was happening in half a dozen of the empty segments that had him curious, the lack of light making it difficult to discern what was going on. He didn’t bother asking, as he was well aware Dawson and the others all had their hands full, though they had to be made aware of what was now happening.
He fit his headset in place and activated the link. “Zero-One, Control Actual. Come in, over.”
“This is Zero-One. Go ahead, Control.”
“I’ve got bad news, Zero-One. Boko Haram is on the move from all three rally points. We are estimating over five-hundred hostiles, all armed, most riding tandem on motorcycles.”
“ETA?”
Leroux stared at the screens showing the bottleneck on the roads. “The lead riders will be arriving within twenty minutes. It will take time for them all to arrive. Perhaps an hour. Depending on their plan, if they have one, they may attack when they arrive, or they may wait for all their forces. If that’s the case, you may have almost an hour, but I’d plan for the worst.”
“Copy that, Control. ETA on the Nigerian column?”
Leroux glanced at Tong who held up four fingers. “Our latest estimate is four hours at the earliest. They’re making good progress. But they’re only two hundred men.”
“Well, I’ll leave it in your capable hands whether you tell the Nigerians they’re sending two hundred men into a battle against five hundred Boko Haram.”
Leroux smiled slightly, catching the less than subtle implication. If the Nigerians knew they were going in, hopelessly outnumbered, they might call back their troops, or they might commit even more. There was no way to know which. “Understood, Zero-One. Either way, can you hold out for four hours?”
“We have some tricks up our sleeves, Control, but I doubt it. Tell the president and whoever else might listen to this that this can be solved with a single Ghostrider. They don’t need to put a boot on the ground if they don’t want to, but if they don’t want twelve operators, thirty-plus Nigerian regulars, and over two-hundred men, women, and children to die here tonight, then grow some damn balls and make the call!”
Leroux glanced around the room, everyone stunned at the uncharacteristically frank words from Dawson, someone who normally remained level-headed under any circumstance. It was clear the situation was getting to the man, and Leroux didn’t blame him. He would have likely fallen to pieces long ago if their roles were reversed. “Acknowledged, Zero-One. Permission to send your comments up the line? It might have more effect.”
“Post it on TikTok for all I care. If we don’t get the help we need, we’re all dead, and my career is over regardless. In fact, I’ll do you one better. Mr. President, if you’re listening to this, we need your help. We are American soldiers sent on a mission by our commanding officers. We are attempting to protect hundreds of innocents from Boko Haram. A single aircraft can save us all. If the Nigerians won’t give you permission to enter their airspace, then tell them to go to Hell and do your job. Protect your soldiers, and protect the innocents whose lives are at stake here. We will all be dead in a matter of hours unless you act now. I witnessed good Nigerian soldiers laying down their lives today, I held a dying girl in my arms who begged me not to let Boko Haram take her. She knew what they would do to her, they all do. This isn’t about borders, this isn’t about sovereignty, this is about human beings helping other human beings. Do the right thing and send in that gunship, or the blood of all of us is on your hands tomorrow.” There was a pause, whoops and cheers heard on the other end as what was likely members of Bravo Team applauded their commander for telling it like it was. “Did you get that?”
Tong gave a thumbs-up.
“We got it. And I promise you this, I’m sending it to everyone I can that might be able to help.”
“Copy that, Control. Zero-One, out.”
Leroux tossed his headset on the desk and gripped the arms of his chair as he calmed himself. He had heard desperation before, but never from Dawson, or the likes of him. It wasn’t fear in his voice, but concern, concern for his men, but more importantly, concern for those civilians they were willing to sacrifice themselves for, in order to give the innocent a fighting chance.
And he was right. Without that gunship, there was no way they could hold out for long.
“I’ll need that conversation on tape.”
Tong held up a memory stick. “Way ahead of you.”
He smiled and rose. “I’m going to see the Chief.” He took the stick and leaned in, lowering his voice. “Send a copy of that to Dylan. He can send it places I can’t without compromising the Agency.”
“Consider it done.”
He headed for the door. “Oh, and find me a gunship in the region, just in case someone in Washington says none are available.”
58 |
FOB Ugurun, Nigeria
Red stared at Dawson, his jaw square, admiration in his eyes. “Well said, BD. Very well said.”
Dawson grunted. “It’s a career-ender for sure, but there’s no time to admire my obvious need of Toast Masters.” He held up his arms. “Listen up, everyone! Boko Haram is on their way now. We expect the front edge to arrive in twenty minutes, with the rest of them within an hour. We don’t know what they plan on doing, but let’s hope they decide to wait for all their forces to arrive.”
“How many are we facing?” asked one of the civilians in the gathering crowd.
Dawson regarded him. “I’m not going to lie to you. The estimate is five-hundred.”
Gasps and cries swept through those gathered.
“Listen, I know that sounds like a big number, and it is. But you have twelve highly trained men from my team, over thirty of your own brave soldiers, plus we’ve shown almost forty of you how to shoot, and you all have guns. This will be a brutal battle, and we may not make it through the night, but if we die, we die protecting husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, and most importantly, children. If we can keep them on the other side of this barrier”—he patted one of the filled segments—“then we stand a chance. The risk will be from grenades.” He pointed at foxholes that had been dug throughout the compound. “If you see a grenade, get in a hole. Don’t be a hero and try to grab it and throw it back out. You’ll just blow yourself to bits. Now, you all have your assignments. We’ve got less than twenty minutes, so let’s get moving!”
Everyone broke as Atlas roared by with another load of dirt, peering through a sliver of an opening in the spare body armor encircling him, tied to the frame of the windowless cab that would hopefully allow him to continue to work during the battle. The man must be exhausted, but had refused relief when offered. “I’m in the zone, BD, just leave me be!”
So he had.
Dawson walked the inside perimeter, pointing out problems, whoever was responsible fixing it. The gun nests atop the buildings were ready, equipped, and manned by six of his team. They were far enough inside the barrier that it would take a good throwing arm to reach them with a grenade, and they had full coverage of the entire area to the tree line. Their only vulnerability would be from RPGs, but the corrugated metal from the sides of the buildings had been repurposed as pre-detonation screens that should provide some protection.
The biggest vulnerability to the civilians were grenades tossed over the barrier. They were keeping as many as they could inside the buildings and away from the walls. It should protect them, but it also meant they would be trapped if the enemy made it inside the wire. A kill box manned by Ledger and Clarke, along with half a dozen of the Nigerians, had been set up in the opening of the barrier, designed to funnel the enemy directly into a wall of lead, with several fallback positions should it become necessary.
They would put up one hell of a fight, they would take out a lot of the enemy, but with every lucky shot, every tossed grenade that wounded or killed, their numbers would continue to dwindle until there wouldn’t be enough to hold.
That was why Red’s Hail Mary had to thin the herd dramatically.
Buhari jogged up. “All six positions are ready.”
Dawson eyed one of the openings they had cut in the unfilled barrier segments. “Your men know what to do?”
“Absolutely. They’ll do their jobs, don’t you worry.”
“And the civilians?”
“They’re frightened, but they know what’s at stake.”
Dawson slapped him on the back with a smile. “Then let’s get some chow while we can. Something tells me we won’t be eating again until this is over.”
Or never again.
59 |
Director Morrison’s Office, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
Morrison’s chest tightened as he listened to the recording. It was as moving a speech as he had ever heard, and it wasn’t delivered by a professional reading from a script written by another professional. It was a soldier, in the middle of nowhere, who knew he was going to die, and was doing so willingly.
And who had to be saved.
“Any word on my idea?” he asked Leroux, sitting impatiently in front of him.
Leroux shook his head. “I sent it to Kane, he acknowledged receipt, and that’s it. All he could do was pass it on. I’m sure it’s reached its intended recipient by now, but whether anything can be done, who knows?”
Morrison cursed. “Politics.”
“Is it?”
Morrison’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I mean, is it just politics? We’ve helped the Nigerians before, and hell, we were invited in. If they showed some balls and sent in more choppers, we could bring in reinforcements.”
“How many choppers have they lost today?”
“Three.”
“Are you aware that they only have about twenty functional helicopters in their entire fleet?”
Leroux sighed. He was aware, though had forgotten that fact. “Yes.”
“So, you can see how they might be reluctant to send more. RPGs are difficult to defend against. Even we lost a lot of good men to them in Iraq and Afghanistan. Their president is also in a political battle for his future, and has to deal with a large Muslim population that does not like us.”
“So, politics.”
Morrison grunted. “I’ll give you that one.”
“Then I say to hell with them. Just like BD said. Get a gunship in there, end this, then apologize later for saving hundreds of their civilians and soldiers.”
Morrison tapped his phone. “I already have a meeting scheduled with the president in ten minutes on another matter. I’ll be bringing this up, trust me.” He flicked a finger toward the door. “Now get out of here so I can get this added to the agenda.”
Leroux rose and headed for the door, then paused, looking back at his boss. “Chief?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think he’ll say yes?”
Morrison held up the memory stick containing the recorded plea from Dawson. “Son, if this doesn’t convince him, nothing will.”
60 |
Approaching FOB Ugurun, Nigeria
Ibrahim raced near the head of the pack, his eyes peeled on the unreliable road ahead. He had half a dozen riders out front in case something was blocking the road—he wasn’t about to sacrifice himself to a felled tree in the night. He had no doubt the Americans were watching with their drones and their satellites, but it didn’t matter. If they hadn’t sent in more help by now, they never were.
Three Nigerian choppers, and one very expensive American one, were down. No one else was arriving except by land, and the last update he had received was that they were three and a half hours away at best. This battle would be finished long before that. A compact area, surrounded by useless chain-link fence, with a few shacks to provide cover, was no defense against five hundred guns with jihad in their hearts.
This would be a bloody, brutal victory, and he prayed at least some of the Americans survived for him to skin alive.
When this night was through, nothing would be alive at that camp, nor in the surrounding village.
Nobody defied Boko Haram, and tonight would make certain no one ever forgot that.
The riders ahead slowed as they approached the village. The farmhouses had been dark, no evening candles or fires lit, meaning they were all either taking shelter at the base, or attempting to appear not to be at home. It didn’t matter. All would be searched once the base was taken.
The only light was from Allah himself, the clear sky and nearly full moon providing them with all the illumination they would need to succeed in their task. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at the long line of single lights stretching as far as the eye could see. It would take quite some time for all his forces to converge, and the entire ride here he had debated what to do. They could set up around the camp and simply begin firing, and perhaps be done with this before all of his warriors had arrived. After all, chain-link might as well be plastic wrap—it didn’t stop bullets, and it concealed nothing.
The shacks would be where most would be hiding, either inside or behind them, and a few well-placed RPGs would have them ablaze in no time. He sneered. This was his battle. This was his victory. He had brought together this massive force to kill the Americans and those who would collaborate with them. Why should he share the glory?
When they arrived, they would immediately attack.
He took the lead, gunning toward the base, his heart hammering with the religious fervor that swept over him before every battle. Tonight he might die, and receive his rewards for dying in Allah’s name, or he might survive, cementing himself as the greatest leader Boko Haram had ever had.
“He needs plenty of water, should try to eat something to keep his strength up, and needs to stay put. Also, the bruising needs to be monitored, though like I said, even if it gets significantly worse, there’s nothing I can really do here.”
“So, he needs a babysitter.”
Niner laughed. “Yeah, I suppose he does.”
“I’ll be back.” Dawson left the infirmary and headed outside. He flagged down Buhari, directing the final touches on their rooftop sandbagged positions.
“What do you need, Sergeant Major?”
“I need two nurses.”
Buhari’s eyebrows shot up. “Nurses?”
“To watch Wings. He needs to stay lying down, plenty of water and food, and a bruise monitored. Niner can explain it all. Check with the villagers and see if you can get a couple of volunteers.”
Buhari nodded. “You’ve got it.” He headed into the thick of the civilians, huddled behind a segment of completed barrier. Atlas had been working nonstop, and the time they had bought by tricking the enemy had proved invaluable. They now had enough of the barrier filled that as long as they could keep Boko Haram on the other side of it, they might just hold out. His concern was grenades. They had found a few in the weapons caches they had confiscated, which suggested their foes had access to them. They would need to keep the enemy as far back as possible, and pray they had poor throwing arms.
Dawson joined Red, confabbing nearby with the others. He indicated the rooftop gun nests. “I want you to inspect those positions. Make sure our friends have done the job right, then I want one of our guys in each nest with two MP4s just in case one fails, and plenty of ammo. Anybody who gets too close needs to be taken out, just in case they have a grenade. We can protect these people against anything fired horizontally, but if it’s tossed over, we’re screwed.”
Red agreed. “With the tree line pushed back as far as you got it, that should help. We were just discussing tactics. Do you have a moment?”
“Yes.”
“Well, with ammo at a premium, and with Langley now estimating we could be facing over four hundred, I was thinking there’s almost no way we can hold them off. If they weren’t firing back, sure, half a dozen of our guys on the rooftop could pick them off one-by-one pretty quickly, but as soon as they start returning fire, we’ll be spending most of our time keeping our heads down.”
“True. What has the brain trust come up with?”
Spock cocked an eyebrow. “Were we just insulted?”
Dawson chuckled. “Never.”
Red pointed at one of the barrier segments that hadn’t been filled yet. “We’ve got those fifty cals that the Nigerians had ringing the base, and they had plenty of ammo. I’m thinking we put those to use, but in a little bit of an unconventional way.”
And as Dawson listened, a smile slowly spread. The idea was definitely unconventional, but if it worked, and that was a big ‘if,’ it could catch Boko Haram by surprise, and significantly thin their numbers in short order.
If it worked.
57 |
Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
“We’ve got movement!” announced Tong, and the entire operations center paused what they were doing, staring up at the screen. Scores of motorcycles, most doubled-up, were racing from all three rally points. The latest estimates were that almost 500 hostiles had gathered, a small portion of the thousands upon thousands in the extended region.
But this was going down tonight.
If it extended into several days, those thousands might make it into the fray, but Leroux was convinced this would be over by morning—everyone in that camp and in that village would be dead by then.
The Hail Mary initiated by Morrison had produced nothing, at least not yet. It was out of his hands, and there was no way for him to even ask for an update. Kane wouldn’t know. Couldn’t know. It was in the hands of the fabled Gray Network, an association of retired spies from various countries, allied to maintain peace when governments couldn’t.
A noble idea, and from what he had seen of them, effective.
But so far, not tonight.
The front loader was still racing up and down the length of the FOB, Atlas now putting second loads in many of the key segments, and something was happening in half a dozen of the empty segments that had him curious, the lack of light making it difficult to discern what was going on. He didn’t bother asking, as he was well aware Dawson and the others all had their hands full, though they had to be made aware of what was now happening.
He fit his headset in place and activated the link. “Zero-One, Control Actual. Come in, over.”
“This is Zero-One. Go ahead, Control.”
“I’ve got bad news, Zero-One. Boko Haram is on the move from all three rally points. We are estimating over five-hundred hostiles, all armed, most riding tandem on motorcycles.”
“ETA?”
Leroux stared at the screens showing the bottleneck on the roads. “The lead riders will be arriving within twenty minutes. It will take time for them all to arrive. Perhaps an hour. Depending on their plan, if they have one, they may attack when they arrive, or they may wait for all their forces. If that’s the case, you may have almost an hour, but I’d plan for the worst.”
“Copy that, Control. ETA on the Nigerian column?”
Leroux glanced at Tong who held up four fingers. “Our latest estimate is four hours at the earliest. They’re making good progress. But they’re only two hundred men.”
“Well, I’ll leave it in your capable hands whether you tell the Nigerians they’re sending two hundred men into a battle against five hundred Boko Haram.”
Leroux smiled slightly, catching the less than subtle implication. If the Nigerians knew they were going in, hopelessly outnumbered, they might call back their troops, or they might commit even more. There was no way to know which. “Understood, Zero-One. Either way, can you hold out for four hours?”
“We have some tricks up our sleeves, Control, but I doubt it. Tell the president and whoever else might listen to this that this can be solved with a single Ghostrider. They don’t need to put a boot on the ground if they don’t want to, but if they don’t want twelve operators, thirty-plus Nigerian regulars, and over two-hundred men, women, and children to die here tonight, then grow some damn balls and make the call!”
Leroux glanced around the room, everyone stunned at the uncharacteristically frank words from Dawson, someone who normally remained level-headed under any circumstance. It was clear the situation was getting to the man, and Leroux didn’t blame him. He would have likely fallen to pieces long ago if their roles were reversed. “Acknowledged, Zero-One. Permission to send your comments up the line? It might have more effect.”
“Post it on TikTok for all I care. If we don’t get the help we need, we’re all dead, and my career is over regardless. In fact, I’ll do you one better. Mr. President, if you’re listening to this, we need your help. We are American soldiers sent on a mission by our commanding officers. We are attempting to protect hundreds of innocents from Boko Haram. A single aircraft can save us all. If the Nigerians won’t give you permission to enter their airspace, then tell them to go to Hell and do your job. Protect your soldiers, and protect the innocents whose lives are at stake here. We will all be dead in a matter of hours unless you act now. I witnessed good Nigerian soldiers laying down their lives today, I held a dying girl in my arms who begged me not to let Boko Haram take her. She knew what they would do to her, they all do. This isn’t about borders, this isn’t about sovereignty, this is about human beings helping other human beings. Do the right thing and send in that gunship, or the blood of all of us is on your hands tomorrow.” There was a pause, whoops and cheers heard on the other end as what was likely members of Bravo Team applauded their commander for telling it like it was. “Did you get that?”
Tong gave a thumbs-up.
“We got it. And I promise you this, I’m sending it to everyone I can that might be able to help.”
“Copy that, Control. Zero-One, out.”
Leroux tossed his headset on the desk and gripped the arms of his chair as he calmed himself. He had heard desperation before, but never from Dawson, or the likes of him. It wasn’t fear in his voice, but concern, concern for his men, but more importantly, concern for those civilians they were willing to sacrifice themselves for, in order to give the innocent a fighting chance.
And he was right. Without that gunship, there was no way they could hold out for long.
“I’ll need that conversation on tape.”
Tong held up a memory stick. “Way ahead of you.”
He smiled and rose. “I’m going to see the Chief.” He took the stick and leaned in, lowering his voice. “Send a copy of that to Dylan. He can send it places I can’t without compromising the Agency.”
“Consider it done.”
He headed for the door. “Oh, and find me a gunship in the region, just in case someone in Washington says none are available.”
58 |
FOB Ugurun, Nigeria
Red stared at Dawson, his jaw square, admiration in his eyes. “Well said, BD. Very well said.”
Dawson grunted. “It’s a career-ender for sure, but there’s no time to admire my obvious need of Toast Masters.” He held up his arms. “Listen up, everyone! Boko Haram is on their way now. We expect the front edge to arrive in twenty minutes, with the rest of them within an hour. We don’t know what they plan on doing, but let’s hope they decide to wait for all their forces to arrive.”
“How many are we facing?” asked one of the civilians in the gathering crowd.
Dawson regarded him. “I’m not going to lie to you. The estimate is five-hundred.”
Gasps and cries swept through those gathered.
“Listen, I know that sounds like a big number, and it is. But you have twelve highly trained men from my team, over thirty of your own brave soldiers, plus we’ve shown almost forty of you how to shoot, and you all have guns. This will be a brutal battle, and we may not make it through the night, but if we die, we die protecting husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, and most importantly, children. If we can keep them on the other side of this barrier”—he patted one of the filled segments—“then we stand a chance. The risk will be from grenades.” He pointed at foxholes that had been dug throughout the compound. “If you see a grenade, get in a hole. Don’t be a hero and try to grab it and throw it back out. You’ll just blow yourself to bits. Now, you all have your assignments. We’ve got less than twenty minutes, so let’s get moving!”
Everyone broke as Atlas roared by with another load of dirt, peering through a sliver of an opening in the spare body armor encircling him, tied to the frame of the windowless cab that would hopefully allow him to continue to work during the battle. The man must be exhausted, but had refused relief when offered. “I’m in the zone, BD, just leave me be!”
So he had.
Dawson walked the inside perimeter, pointing out problems, whoever was responsible fixing it. The gun nests atop the buildings were ready, equipped, and manned by six of his team. They were far enough inside the barrier that it would take a good throwing arm to reach them with a grenade, and they had full coverage of the entire area to the tree line. Their only vulnerability would be from RPGs, but the corrugated metal from the sides of the buildings had been repurposed as pre-detonation screens that should provide some protection.
The biggest vulnerability to the civilians were grenades tossed over the barrier. They were keeping as many as they could inside the buildings and away from the walls. It should protect them, but it also meant they would be trapped if the enemy made it inside the wire. A kill box manned by Ledger and Clarke, along with half a dozen of the Nigerians, had been set up in the opening of the barrier, designed to funnel the enemy directly into a wall of lead, with several fallback positions should it become necessary.
They would put up one hell of a fight, they would take out a lot of the enemy, but with every lucky shot, every tossed grenade that wounded or killed, their numbers would continue to dwindle until there wouldn’t be enough to hold.
That was why Red’s Hail Mary had to thin the herd dramatically.
Buhari jogged up. “All six positions are ready.”
Dawson eyed one of the openings they had cut in the unfilled barrier segments. “Your men know what to do?”
“Absolutely. They’ll do their jobs, don’t you worry.”
“And the civilians?”
“They’re frightened, but they know what’s at stake.”
Dawson slapped him on the back with a smile. “Then let’s get some chow while we can. Something tells me we won’t be eating again until this is over.”
Or never again.
59 |
Director Morrison’s Office, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
Morrison’s chest tightened as he listened to the recording. It was as moving a speech as he had ever heard, and it wasn’t delivered by a professional reading from a script written by another professional. It was a soldier, in the middle of nowhere, who knew he was going to die, and was doing so willingly.
And who had to be saved.
“Any word on my idea?” he asked Leroux, sitting impatiently in front of him.
Leroux shook his head. “I sent it to Kane, he acknowledged receipt, and that’s it. All he could do was pass it on. I’m sure it’s reached its intended recipient by now, but whether anything can be done, who knows?”
Morrison cursed. “Politics.”
“Is it?”
Morrison’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I mean, is it just politics? We’ve helped the Nigerians before, and hell, we were invited in. If they showed some balls and sent in more choppers, we could bring in reinforcements.”
“How many choppers have they lost today?”
“Three.”
“Are you aware that they only have about twenty functional helicopters in their entire fleet?”
Leroux sighed. He was aware, though had forgotten that fact. “Yes.”
“So, you can see how they might be reluctant to send more. RPGs are difficult to defend against. Even we lost a lot of good men to them in Iraq and Afghanistan. Their president is also in a political battle for his future, and has to deal with a large Muslim population that does not like us.”
“So, politics.”
Morrison grunted. “I’ll give you that one.”
“Then I say to hell with them. Just like BD said. Get a gunship in there, end this, then apologize later for saving hundreds of their civilians and soldiers.”
Morrison tapped his phone. “I already have a meeting scheduled with the president in ten minutes on another matter. I’ll be bringing this up, trust me.” He flicked a finger toward the door. “Now get out of here so I can get this added to the agenda.”
Leroux rose and headed for the door, then paused, looking back at his boss. “Chief?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think he’ll say yes?”
Morrison held up the memory stick containing the recorded plea from Dawson. “Son, if this doesn’t convince him, nothing will.”
60 |
Approaching FOB Ugurun, Nigeria
Ibrahim raced near the head of the pack, his eyes peeled on the unreliable road ahead. He had half a dozen riders out front in case something was blocking the road—he wasn’t about to sacrifice himself to a felled tree in the night. He had no doubt the Americans were watching with their drones and their satellites, but it didn’t matter. If they hadn’t sent in more help by now, they never were.
Three Nigerian choppers, and one very expensive American one, were down. No one else was arriving except by land, and the last update he had received was that they were three and a half hours away at best. This battle would be finished long before that. A compact area, surrounded by useless chain-link fence, with a few shacks to provide cover, was no defense against five hundred guns with jihad in their hearts.
This would be a bloody, brutal victory, and he prayed at least some of the Americans survived for him to skin alive.
When this night was through, nothing would be alive at that camp, nor in the surrounding village.
Nobody defied Boko Haram, and tonight would make certain no one ever forgot that.
The riders ahead slowed as they approached the village. The farmhouses had been dark, no evening candles or fires lit, meaning they were all either taking shelter at the base, or attempting to appear not to be at home. It didn’t matter. All would be searched once the base was taken.
The only light was from Allah himself, the clear sky and nearly full moon providing them with all the illumination they would need to succeed in their task. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at the long line of single lights stretching as far as the eye could see. It would take quite some time for all his forces to converge, and the entire ride here he had debated what to do. They could set up around the camp and simply begin firing, and perhaps be done with this before all of his warriors had arrived. After all, chain-link might as well be plastic wrap—it didn’t stop bullets, and it concealed nothing.
The shacks would be where most would be hiding, either inside or behind them, and a few well-placed RPGs would have them ablaze in no time. He sneered. This was his battle. This was his victory. He had brought together this massive force to kill the Americans and those who would collaborate with them. Why should he share the glory?
When they arrived, they would immediately attack.
He took the lead, gunning toward the base, his heart hammering with the religious fervor that swept over him before every battle. Tonight he might die, and receive his rewards for dying in Allah’s name, or he might survive, cementing himself as the greatest leader Boko Haram had ever had.
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