“My God, brother, you gave me a scare.” He continued to remove the bags as Spock poked his head up the ladder.

  “Did you find him?”

  “Yeah. He’s unconscious. I think he got hit by the sandbags when the RPG detonated.” He furiously continued to free his friend and finally removed the last sandbag, tossing it back in place, protecting them from another direct hit. He quickly did an assessment on him then turned to Spock. “Give me a hand.” He slid Mickey along the roof toward the ladder, and Spock reached out and grabbed their friend under the armpits. He hauled Mickey forward as Niner held his legs, when Mickey suddenly jerked.

  “What the hell!”

  Spock stared him in the face, upside down from Mickey’s current perspective. “You fainted, darling.”

  Mickey sat up and Niner shoved him back down. “Get down, you mental midget! We’re still taking fire.”

  Mickey rolled over onto his stomach. “Then let’s get off this damn roof.”

  Spock climbed out of the way and Mickey swung over the edge, dropping out of sight as Niner scrambled forward and followed, another RPG detonating overhead as it impacted one of the screens. He dropped to the ground then rose, grabbing Mickey by the shoulders and giving him another once over, staring into his eyes.

  “Am I okay?”

  Niner frowned. “I’m not sure.”

  Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Niner flicked both his friend’s ears. “I think these things got bigger.”

  Dawson sprinted around the corner and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of all six of the rooftop team standing alive and well at the rally point. “You guys good?”

  Niner jerked a thumb at Mickey. “He tried to buy it, but survived.”

  Dawson regarded Mickey. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just a little shaken up. It’s not every day you have an RPG go off two feet from your head.”

  Jagger punched him on the shoulder. “Next time listen to Wings when he tells you the bad guys just ordered your position targeted.”

  Mickey patted himself down, finding his earpiece dangling off his vest. He pressed it back into place. “I guess it fell out.”

  Niner grunted. “No surprise there. Nobody ever designed them to fit Dumbo wings like those.”

  Mickey flipped him the bird. “Careful, squirt, your protector isn’t here.”

  Dawson looked up as another RPG streaked past, missing the mark. “I think they’re starting to run out.”

  Niner agreed. “Yeah, I noticed that when I was up there saving his sorry ass. Let’s hope they’re stupid enough to waste them all. It would mean we’ll have free reign up there.”

  Another RPG detonated against one of the screens, sending it toppling to the ground nearby. Dawson eyed it. “Maybe we’ll give them a few minutes. Get some of the spare steel and get ready to reinstall the screens.” He activated his comms. “Control, Zero-One. Status report, over.”

  “This is Control. Your hostiles are holding their positions while they use their RPGs. Our analysis suggests they’ve almost run out, however more hostiles continue to arrive and may have more. Advise caution if reoccupying the rooftops.”

  “Copy that, Control. Any updated ETA on our French friends?”

  “Ten minutes out.”

  “Copy that. Zero-One, out.” Dawson cocked an ear, noticing the silence. “That can’t be good.” He jerked a thumb up. “Back up there, ladies. And Mickey?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Duct tape that damned thing in your ear if you have to. I don’t want you off comms again.”

  Niner clasped his hands in front of his chest. “Please please please, can I do it?”

  Ibrahim stared through the smoke, uncertain whether the barrage had been successful. In the faint moonlight he had spotted something odd mounted around the rooftops, and when the RPGs began detonating off them, he realized they were pieces of metal designed to explode the warheads before they reached their targets.

  Ingenious.

  He had to remember that for their own fortifications.

  At least a few RPGs had made it through and hit the positions on the rooftops, but without knowing if anyone was actually there since the guns had been silent, he had to question whether it had been worth it. Had they just wasted most of their RPG arsenal on what ended up being little more than a light show?

  Had he?

  One thing he was certain of was that if anyone had been on the rooftops, they weren’t there now, which meant they might have a clear shot at reaching the walls, which was key. He had noticed a curious pattern when staring at the carnage surrounding the base. Except for a few areas, all the dead were more than ten feet from the wall.

  They had a massive hole in their defenses. They appeared to have no coverage outside the wall except from the rooftop, which due to the angle meant a huge blind spot.

  If they could make it there.

  It would be dangerous, and as he thought about it, he could think of only one man to lead the charge. He clicked on the talk button. “Lawan, are you there, brother?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Have you noticed that they can’t cover close to the wall?”

  There was a pause. “Yes, I see that.”

  A sly smile crept up one side of his face. “I want you to lead the charge. In the name of Allah, get our men to that wall. Once we get there, we can use the grenades to kill all those infidel pigs. Can you do it?”

  The challenge was out there, broadcast over the airwaves to every single commander within the organization. It would be impossible for Lawan to refuse and the bastard knew it, if the delay in his response were any indication.

  “You know I can.”

  He had to suppress the cackle that threatened to erupt. He had forced his greatest rival into near-certain death. He might die a martyr, but he would be dead, and no longer a challenge to his leadership.

  “Then do it.”

  Lawan issued the order to advance over the radio and men moved in from all sides, picking up speed as Lawan urged them on. Ibrahim spotted him, sprinting toward the wall, screaming “Allahu Akbar!” at the top of his lungs, fear, rage, and fervor in his eyes.

  He was a man who knew he was about to die.

  69 |

  US AFRICOM Base Camp N’Djamena Outside N’Djamena, Chad

  Colonel Waters slammed her office door shut and grabbed the phone, jabbing Line One. “Bill, we’ve got a situation developing and I need your help.”

  Brigadier General Bill Gillespie cleared his throat into the receiver and Waters winced, moving the phone from her ear for a moment. It was a nasty habit the man had, but other than that, he was a good one.

  And her ex-husband.

  They hadn’t given up on their marriage due to a lack of love, it was their careers that had gotten in the way. They were both too ambitious to sacrifice their own career so the other could succeed. And now they had both succeeded, and she saw stars in both their futures, not just his.

  He finished his disgusting habit, something she had told him about repeatedly. “What’s the situation?”

  “We have a Delta team trapped on a Forward Operating Base in Nigeria. They’re surrounded by hundreds of Boko Haram, and the Nigerians are refusing to let us send in help.”

  “From what I hear, they managed to get a Chinook with an FOB in a Can in there.”

  “You heard about that, did you?”

  She could almost hear his eyes roll. “Of course I heard about it. What were you thinking?”

  It was her turn to roll her eyes. “That I didn’t want another Benghazi.”

  He sighed. “I’ll do what I can to protect you.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Don’t be a fool.”

  She bristled. Maybe they had divorced for more than their careers. “Let’s drop this. I need a favor.”

  “You’re right. What can I do for you?”

  “Do you still have that Ghostrider used in Mali a few days ago?”

  “Why, what are you thinking?”

  He knew her too well.

  “I want you to fully arm it and send it here.”

  “So it can be stolen by Aussie mercenaries?”

  She smiled. “You really are up to speed, aren’t you?”

  He laughed. “Always.” He became serious. “You realize you’re the second person who’s called about that aircraft in the past hour?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Really? Who else?”

  “I’m thinking CIA.”

  “Huh, I received a similar call earlier about the Chinook. What did you say?”

  “It’s already inbound. They should be landing at your base in ten minutes.”

  She smiled broadly. “You know, Bill, it’s times like these when I remember why I fell in love with you.”

  He laughed. “Because when you need heavy firepower, I always deliver, even in the bedroom?”

  She roared. “Oh, Bill, you always could make me laugh.”

  70 |

  FOB Ugurun, Nigeria

  Lawan sprinted toward the wall ahead, his pulse pounding in his ears with fear, a pit of rage roiling in his stomach over having been outmaneuvered by Ibrahim. When their leader had been killed, he had wanted to take over the organization, but was convinced that whoever led next would only do so for a short time—he would be betrayed by a rival and killed. It was the only reason he had backed Ibrahim.

  But the man had survived. And thrived. Even Lawan’s own men thought Ibrahim was a great leader. When he had heard of the defeat here this morning, he had recognized it as an opportunity to perhaps sow division and take over as leader, to take his rightful place at the head of Boko Haram.

  Yet he had been outplayed. The moment Ibrahim sent that radio transmission for all to hear, there was no choice. The wall had to be reached, and it had to be with him leading the charge.

  He didn’t want to die. He feared death as any normal person would. Yes, they were told that dying in the name of Allah granted them guaranteed access to Jannah, and should it be true, he would be content to spend eternity there enjoying the spoils of war. But what if it weren’t true? What if it was all just a story told to fools by a fool so many years ago? He had a good life here. Most in the West wouldn’t think so, but since he had no idea how they lived, he only had his own experiences to compare against. Because of his position, he was wealthy, he had all the women he could want, he had men that admired him and were fiercely loyal, and he was able to leave his home to rape and pillage whenever he pleased.

  It was a very good life, and if the Koran was to be believed, after this good life was over, an even better one would be awaiting him in the afterlife. But why shorten one great life to enjoy an even better one that might not be real?

  Yet here, now, as he sprinted toward the wall and the enemy’s guns opened up on them, he could only curse Ibrahim for cutting short the bliss he now lived.

  If I survive this, you’re dead.

  “Here they come!” shouted Niner as he peered through his scope. The orders still stood—hold your fire. They wanted as many of them in the open as possible before they unleashed another volley, though this might be the last. The .50s were almost out of ammo, and once they were, all that was left that could target outside the compound were the six of them on these rooftops.

  Not enough by any stretch of the imagination.

  He checked his watch. Seven minutes. Seven minutes until the French arrived. Even if it were only a single pass, just one attack helicopter could do significant damage, and perhaps put the fear of God into these assholes. The Nigerians were less than three hours away now. Some of those inside the wire might survive until then, but he doubted it would be many if any. If he were the Boko Haram commander, he’d just toss torches or Molotov cocktails over the wire to set fire to the buildings, then in the confusion, breach the barrier. Once enough of them were inside, it was over.

  “BD! They’re getting awfully close!” yelled Jagger.

  Spock cursed. “I think they all have grenades in their hands!”

  A flare screamed into the air and burst, Dawson issuing the order. “Open fire!”

  Niner squeezed the trigger then moved on to the next target, not wasting any time to check if the man had gone down—he just assumed his aim was true, and the valuable second that assumption purchased allowed him to increase his kill rate.

  The .50s opened up from the six Nigerian positions, the thunder deafening and reassuring. He continued to fire, as did the others, and significant damage was clearly being done. It was almost enjoyable if it weren’t for the fact it was human lives he was taking. He had no guilt, of course, as these were murderous lunatics, but there was no joy in the killing, just satisfaction they couldn’t hurt anyone inside anymore.

  He spotted something that had him poking his head up. The blind spots between the coverage provided by the .50s had been made obvious by the lack of carnage in what resembled triangular-shaped havens extending out from the barriers between each gun position.

  And it appeared as if the enemy had figured it out.

  “BD! Looks like they’ve figured out the blind spots!”

  “Copy that! Rooftop, target the blind spots!”

  Niner continued to fire, as did the others, concentrating on the spots the .50s couldn’t cover. So far, no RPGs had been fired, which suggested they were either out, or had given up on that tactic for the moment. With the level of accuracy these idiots had shown earlier, the leadership might have decided they would lose more of their own to friendly fire than their enemy might to successful hits.

  Something rattled one of the pre-detonation screens and he recognized the sound of a metal grenade rolling down the corrugated steel. “Grenade, Number Three Center! Take cover!”

  He ducked as the metal-on-metal scraping stopped, the grenade dropping to the ground below. The detonation shook the entire building, but it was over and none of his concern. He opened up again on the hostiles, wondering why the past ten seconds had felt like the seven minutes they needed.

  Dawson scrambled to his feet and rushed toward the blast site. “Everyone all right?” Voices sounded off around him, no one indicating they were injured. It appeared the grenade had been blocked by the screen overhead then dumped onto the ground. Much of the blast had been absorbed by the Hesco barrier in one direction, but one of the buildings had taken some shrapnel damage. He poked his head through the biggest hole. “Is everyone all right in there?”

  A woman, gripping several children against the far wall, nodded. “I-I think so.”

  Dawson smiled at her then shoved a thumbs-up through the hole. “Keep away from the outer walls!” he reminded those inside as another grenade warning was shouted from the other side of the compound. The explosion rocked the area, but he let it be, Red covering that zone. He would take care of it and report back if there were anything to be concerned about.

  But there already was something to be concerned about. The enemy had figured out their weakness. If they had time to set things up properly, they would have had sandbagged towers at the corners and centers that extended beyond the barrier enough to cover the entire wall. There would be no blind spots for the enemy to hide in. Yet that was for a perfect world, and this wasn’t it. If they could just last five more minutes, the tide could be turned.

  “Here they come!” shouted Ledger from their kill box.

  Dawson wanted to head over to help, but unless the call went out that it was needed, he had a job to do here.

  Please, God, give us those five minutes.

  Ibrahim watched as his brave warriors, led by his greatest rival, rushed the walls. Dozens more were dead, but at least two had managed to throw grenades that had made it over the wall, the rest falling short and exploding against the barrier that frustratingly held. And equally frustrating, perhaps more so, was that Lawan was still alive, racing toward the wall, eyes wide, screaming “Allahu Akbar!” the entire way, inspiring those who might falter around him.

  It was a sight to behold.

  Perhaps he would have made the better leader.

  It didn’t matter. He was the leader and intended to remain so. But after this, if Lawan survived, he would be heralded as a hero with Allah’s blessings, for any other man would have died. He would become an impossible to resist rival. If Lawan survived the night, there would be no chance to kill him, for he would be surrounded by his supporters, and he would challenge the leadership before the sun set on tomorrow’s sky.

  Ibrahim raised his weapon then glanced at the others surrounding him. “Fire at the rooftops. We need to provide our brothers cover.” Weapons rattled around him, targeting the sandbagged positions, but as Ibrahim fired, his aim was lower, and he squeezed round after round at his rival, whose head swiveled toward him, shock and terror on his face as he realized what was happening as the ground was torn up around him.

  “Ibrahim!”

  Lawan had picked up the burst of gunfire from his left, at least a dozen AKs opening up, but it wasn’t until he noticed targeted rounds whizzing past him from the left instead of directly ahead that he realized what was happening. At least one of those guns was firing at him.

  And it had to be that bastard Ibrahim.

  There was no doubt now the man intended for him to die, and his archrival would succeed unless he could figure out what to do. He scanned the area ahead and spotted a motorcycle lying at an angle atop the two men that had probably been riding it. He made a beeline for it, covering his head uselessly, then cried out as he dropped behind the twisted cover.

  The gunfire continued all around him, several bullets pinging off the metal frame of the motorcycle, but it appeared he was, for the moment, safe from Ibrahim. As long as he stayed here, perfectly still, he might survive long enough to get the drop on the bastard himself.

  But this would be a long, cold night in the dirt if he were forced to lie here until this was over.

 

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