Inside the Wire, page 21
Ibrahim smiled at the sight of Lawan crying out then dropping. He peered across the battlefield, still lit by the American flare, but couldn’t find the body. Lawan had fallen behind a pile of corpses and motorcycles, out of sight, and it had him wondering if the man were actually dead, or just faking it.
Either way, the rivalry was over. If he were dead, then he was no longer of any concern, and if he faked his death to lie cowering among the bodies of the brave warriors that had fallen before him, and remained there while others fought his battle, he would be shunned by the survivors, no longer a threat for leadership of the organization.
No matter what, he had won the battle for the leadership, and with the number of warriors now reaching the wall, it appeared he was about to win the day as well.
His radio squelched. “Imam, come in! Imam!”
“Go ahead.”
“Helicopters, sir! I count six helicopters passing overhead, heading directly for you.”
Ibrahim cursed. “American?”
“No. French!”
His eyes narrowed. Why the hell would the French be getting involved? Could they have been mistaken about who was behind that wall? The French actually scared him more. They didn’t bother with politics or niceties. They simply went in and took care of business. “What kind of helicopters?”
“I don’t know. Small. Like attack helicopters, I guess.”
He frowned. Small and fast, with heavy weaponry. Far harder to shoot down than an old Huey with a side-mounted gun.
This could be about to get ugly, and they had lost enough troops already.
What the hell do I do?
Ledger squeezed the trigger on Ginger yet again, taking out another of the bastards trying to make it through the kill box. So far, the defenses were working, but grenades were getting tossed over the walls of the compound now, and one well-placed throw could put an end to them.
Clarke fired one of the American’s M4s beside him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had some fun.”
Ledger didn’t bother giving him a look. “My idea of fun is a Friday night with a Sheila you won’t see Saturday morning. If this is your idea of a blast, then you need to seek professional help when this is done.” He fired again as someone poked their head out from under the loader’s bucket.
“Lay me on a couch and I’ll be sleeping long before I’m—grenade!”
Ledger spotted it sailing over the loader and directly toward them. He rose and tossed Ginger in the air, grabbing her by the muzzle then swinging her like a cricket bat. The stock smacked the grenade back toward the loader as a hand grabbed the back of his shirt, dragging him back down as it erupted not ten feet from his face. He slammed onto his back, atop Clarke, as the blast washed over them, the sandbags protecting them.
“You all right?” asked Clarke from under him.
“Nah, yeah, I’m good.”
“Then get off me before I make you buy me dinner.”
Ledger laughed and scrambled back to his position, giving Ginger a kiss. “Good girl.”
Clarke took up beside him. “We need to get you a girlfriend when this is all over.”
Ledger took out another nutbar. “If we get out of this, I’m calling your sister.”
71 |
Approaching FOB Ugurun, Nigeria
Lieutenant Colonel Richelieu turned his head slightly to the left, his gunner sitting behind him having spotted their destination first.
And he cursed.
The sight before them was eerie. A dark landscape lit dimly by the moon and stars with a donut of activity ahead—a dark hole where almost nothing could be seen, then a ring around it of constant flashes. A flare launched, revealing the truth, and they both gasped at the sight. The encampment was entirely surrounded by what appeared to be hundreds of the enemy, their weapons pouring lead onto the defenders, grenades exploding, some inside the wire, some outside.
They were on the brink.
“This is Team Leader. Prepare to engage. Remember, single pass, but make it a complete three-sixty. I want to lay as much ordnance as possible on them before we leave. Don’t worry about hitting the barrier with a stray shot. It’s filled with sand. Let’s just leave here intact, with as many Boko Haram as possible dead. We’re the only hope these people have.”
A string of acknowledgments from the others filled his ears and his gunner grunted. “The Americans couldn’t do this?”
“Politics. Apparently, the Nigerians are forbidding them to enter their airspace, or they’ll cut off all future cooperation between the two countries. It’s a power play by the Nigerian president who’s up for reelection. If this happened six months from now, the Americans would be welcomed in. Right now, he needs the Muslim vote, and playing favorites with the infidel doesn’t look good.”
“Nuts.”
“No shit.” He pushed forward on the stick, guiding them into the fray when suddenly the gunfire stopped and the enemy retreated. He frowned. “I guess they heard we were coming to the party.”
“Fashionably late.”
“This is Team Leader. Watch where they end up. We might be hitting the tree line instead.” His eyes narrowed as he spotted the long line of motorcycles to the north and south. “And on our way out, choppers one through three soften up that southern road, four through six the northern. We don’t want the reinforcements feeling left out.”
Chuckles and acknowledgments responded as his gunner activated the weapons systems. His comms squawked in his headphones. “Tango-Whiskey-One, this is Command, come in, over.”
“This can’t be good.” He activated his mic as he guided them in. “This is Tango-Whiskey-One, go ahead, Command, over.”
“Tango-Whiskey-One, this is a priority message from Command. You are to abort immediately. I say again, abort immediately. Acknowledge, over.”
He cursed as he slammed a fist against the console. “Command, we are within sight of the target, about to engage. They are surrounded by hundreds of hostiles. We can save these people. Request permission to proceed, over.”
“Negative, Tango-Whiskey-One. You are to abort and return to base immediately. Acknowledge, over.”
A flurry of curses erupted as he shook his head, damning the politicians whose orders they were required to follow. “Acknowledged, Command, aborting mission, returning to base. Tango-Whiskey-One, out.” He switched channels. “This is Team Leader. We’ve been ordered to abort and return to base.”
Protests erupted in his ears and he agreed with every one of them. But it was beyond his control. He was a soldier and he did what he was ordered. If he ignored his orders and engaged anyway, it could create an international incident that cost even more lives down the road if they lost the cooperation of the Nigerian government. There had to be a reason for the abort order, and whether he would ever know what that was, he highly doubted it.
He banked them hard, away from the now once again hopeless battle, and said a silent prayer for the brave men and women now left to their own devices to survive until relief arrived.
If that wasn’t canceled as well.
72 |
Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
“What the hell is going on?” cried Leroux as the six French helicopters turned around and headed back to their base in Chad. “Get me…” He stopped. There was no one to get. This was a Hail Mary done through back channels. There was no one to call to protest, to ask why.
Yet he knew.
Politicians.
Child spun in his chair. “Bunch of cheese-eating surrender monkeys.”
Leroux grunted, though wasn’t prepared to condemn the pilots only following orders.
“They were the last hope they had,” murmured Tong as she stared at the retreat. “What are they going to do now?”
Leroux shook his head as he stared at the aerial shot provided by the Reaper. When the choppers had been on their final approach, the enemy had backed off en masse and were now hiding in the tree line. The base was safe for the moment, but once Boko Haram realized the threat was gone, they would attack, with the knowledge nothing would threaten them again.
He slammed his fist on his station, rattling everything on it and startling those around him. He raised a hand. “Sorry, people. Just frustrated.”
“You’re not the only one,” said Therrien. There was a pause. “Umm, boss, check this out.” Therrien pointed at the screen as a new image appeared. Leroux squinted at it as the doors to the operations center opened and Morrison entered.
Leroux turned to him. “Do you know why the French just aborted?”
Morrison glanced at the screen, frowning at the tactical display showing the six helicopters racing back toward Chad. “Yes, I do. The president asked the French president to recall them.”
Leroux’s jaw dropped as his eyes shot wide. “He did what?” He sprang from his chair, jabbing a finger as the display. “Does he realize he just condemned all those people to death?”
Morrison held up a hand. “Before you fly off the handle, let me explain. There’s more going on here than you realize.”
Leroux drew a deep breath and held it for a moment as he struggled to regain control of his rage. He leaned to the side, looking past his boss. “Sonya, let Bravo Team know that the French choppers will not be coming.”
73 |
FOB Ugurun, Nigeria
“What complete and utter bullshit is that?” cried Niner from out of sight on the rooftop.
Dawson didn’t have an answer for him, but couldn’t believe his ears either. Control had just informed him that the French had aborted the mission with no explanation given. He had a sense the woman on the other end of the line had more to tell, but was holding back for some reason. This cowardly act, he was certain, had nothing to do with the pilots or crew. He had fought alongside the French on many occasions, and they were not the white-flag-waving military of old.
This was politics yet again.
He activated his comms. “Bravo Team, Zero-One. You just heard that. The French are not coming, but the Nigerians still are. They’re about two and a half hours out. We need to hold as long as we can. Rooftop positions, keep thinning the ranks.” He faced Buhari. “Nigerian teams, prepare to repel anyone who gets inside the wire. This is it, people, this is our final stand. It’s been an honor serving with each and every one of you, and I still believe God is on our side, and in the end we will prevail. But if we don’t, they better make an effin’ movie about this cockup, because heads somewhere need to roll. Zero-One, out.”
Red joined him and Buhari, as did Ledger. “Well, mates, let down once again by the powers that be.”
Red grunted. “This is bullshit.”
“Agreed,” said Dawson. “But we all know the situation. Surrender is not an option here. We fight to our last breath. If one of us dies, it might be the next guy that lasts long enough for relief to arrive. Or the last.” He turned to Buhari. “Make sure your men know we don’t surrender. We fight hand-to-hand if we have to. Boko Haram will slaughter them and the civilians in horrible ways for what we’ve done here. We’ve killed hundreds of them. We’ve done the impossible already, and now we have to do the impossible again. I don’t know about you, gentlemen, but I have no intention of dying here tonight. I have politicians and bureaucrats to punch in the throat back home.”
Red slapped him on the arm. “Me too. Let’s kick some more ass. I want my death scene in the movie to have men and women alike bawling.”
“Here they come!” shouted Niner as a roar erupted from the tree line, Boko Haram once again emboldened now that the choppers could no longer be heard.
Dawson resumed his position and closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t believe a word he had just said. He was going to die. They all were. It was inevitable now that they had been abandoned yet again. There were simply too many, half the .50s were out of ammo, and the enemy had discovered their weakness.
It was over.
He pictured Maggie back home and his eyes burned.
I’m so sorry.
Niner opened fire, making every shot count. They were running low on ammo for the MP4s, and he didn’t want to switch to the less accurate AK-47 lying beside him. Hundreds were rushing the perimeter with more still arriving by motorcycle. It was hopeless, and he was a Korean Davy Crockett. He heard his best friend Atlas down below, directing villagers as they filled in the gun nests cut into the wall by hand as the gunners ran out of ammo. And as each .50 fell silent, the horde closing in picked up their pace.
They would be over the walls in no time.
Then it would be over. It was just a matter of math.
He fired again, continuing to pick off the enemy as his brothers did around him, the cause hopeless but still worthy. This was the end for all of them, but he would go down fighting before he would let any of these barbarians lay a finger on one child.
But in the end, he would fail.
And never have the opportunity to bring his own child into this ridiculous world.
A grenade detonated at the entrance to the barrier and Ledger checked his weapon yet again. “This is it, mate.”
“Today is a good day to die,” replied Clarke in his best Klingon impression.
“I didn’t know you liked Star Trek.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Wow, what a wasted friendship we’ve had that to this date we never talked Trek.”
“We can start now.”
Ledger fired a round into someone a little too curious. “Favorite TNG episode.”
Clarke fired, another down. “The one where Picard learns to play the flute.”
Ledger took out another, noticing they were coming quicker now. “Not how I would have described that episode, but definitely one of my fav—”
A grenade dropped into their position and they both stared at each other for a moment before diving over the sandbags and into the open. The grenade detonated and Ledger quickly checked himself then grabbed the little guy, making certain he still had all his favorite body parts. He turned to see Clarke wincing, clutching at his lower leg. Blood oozed through his pants and Ledger reached for him when gunfire broke out. He dropped back to the ground, reaching for Ginger lying nearby, then switched it to full-auto, emptying the mag on the half-dozen that had made it inside.
“Falling back!” he shouted, warning the Nigerians around the bend that friendlies were coming through. He grabbed Clarke by the collar and hauled him to safety as he glanced at their previous position, destroyed, along with the ammo left behind.
Ginger was now useless.
“They’re over the wall!” shouted Buhari from the Number Three side.
Red’s voice responded as M4s rattled from his team. “We’re taking care of it.”
The M4s fell silent as Dawson spotted the enemy pouring over the wall at the far end. “We have multiple hostiles coming over at the one-two corner. Keep clear of the wall.” He aimed his weapon and opened fire, single shots, well-aimed, ripping down the length of the encampment, eliminating the half-dozen that had made it over within seconds, but more were coming.
This was it.
“This is Zero-One. We need all guns except the rooftop outside, now!” He continued to fire down the line as more came over the wall. “Buhari! Get the civilians out here!”
“Yes, Sergeant Major!”
Dawson reloaded and continued to fire, joined by Spock and Atlas and half a dozen Nigerian regulars, but there were just too many. Someone cried out behind him and he risked a quick glance. It was one of the Nigerians, a round caught in the shoulder. Another cry and Dawson stopped paying attention, instead continuing to fire, single shot, making the rounds count, for their ammo was quickly running out.
They were about to die.
Wings lay helplessly in the bed, the two women assigned to help him trembling on either side of him, their ministrations forgotten. He could hear the cries of the brave soldiers on the other side of the thin walls as they succumbed to the overwhelming firepower of the enemy, along with the wails of the families taking refuge in the other buildings, and it was heartbreakingly frustrating.
He should be in this fight.
He should be out there with his comrades.
“We are winning, brothers! Keep pressing forward! Kill them all!”
The transmission sent a chill through him, and the women whimpered. One of them stood and pointed at his M4. “Please.”
He glanced at it then looked up at her tear-filled eyes. “Do you know how to use it?”
She nodded. “They showed me.”
He reached up a hand and she took it. He squeezed it. “Good luck.” He handed her the gun and the spare magazines, and she left out the door, joining the fight for her family and friends.
They were all soldiers now.
Dawson hugged the barrier, firing at will along with the others, ejecting another empty mag. “Last mag!” he shouted as he opened fire again. The enemy was pressing from the far end of the FOB, near where the sandpile had once stood tall, and it was providing them with enough cover to gather in numbers.
He heard something behind him and his heart ached at the sight. Dozens of women were emerging from the buildings, hugging the walls, all gripping AK-47s. The fear in their eyes was heart-wrenching, but the pride he felt at this moment in his fellow human beings was overwhelming. He pointed at one of Buhari’s men. “Coordinate them!”
“Yes, Sergeant Major!”
Dawson returned his attention to the battle ahead of him while new guns entered the fray from behind. Ledger’s position had fallen silent a few minutes ago, but had opened up again from a different prepared location, suggesting the enemy was making headway behind him.
A woman screamed but he didn’t have time to check, as there was nothing he could do. If she was dead, then she had been spared what was to come. He fired his last round and slung his M4 then drew his Glock.
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