Inside the Wire, page 22
“I’m out!” shouted Niner from overhead.
“Coming at you!” yelled Jagger, no doubt tossing over a mag.
Something shook the ground outside the wire, the massive impact almost knocking him off his feet. He glanced over at Buhari. “What the hell was that?”
Buhari shrugged.
Another impact, then another, pounding in rhythm, passing along the outside of the wall he was protecting, had everyone stopping except his team, who took advantage of the distraction to continue killing the enemy.
Then the distinctive sound of scores of rounds from a 30mm ATK GAU-23/A autocannon joined the chaos, and Dawson almost cried out in joy. He activated his comms. “Control, Zero-One! Is that what I think it is?”
“Affirmative, Zero-One. A Ghostrider has engaged, I repeat, a Ghostrider has engaged.”
Cheers erupted from his men as they heard the report, the Nigerians cowering, still not aware this new gunfire was friendly. Dawson pointed at Buhari. “Get the civilians back inside! That’s friendly fire!” He emptied his Glock in the direction of the enemy. “Control, Zero-One. Tell Ghostrider that we’ve lost the southern end of the camp. Lay down fire for twenty meters inside the wire.”
“Copy that, Zero-One, relaying now.”
The pounding of the 105 mm M102 howitzer continued, each high-explosive shell pulverizing the ground outside, the hundreds of rounds from the autocannon turning anything that might have survived into flesh bags. There was a slight pause then the overrun area of the FOB was hit and hit hard, explosion after explosion decimating the enemy, and within moments, there was no one left to fight.
The Ghostrider resumed targeting outside the wire and Dawson listened for any Boko Haram still fighting, but heard nothing. He pointed at Buhari. “Sergeant Major, take your men and do a sweep of the base. Make sure we don’t have any uninvited guests.”
“Yes, Sergeant Major.” Buhari gathered his men and they swept toward the dirt pile, searching in every foxhole, under every building, any place they might hide, as Dawson climbed a nearby ladder to get a better look. He found Red already doing the same.
“It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”
Dawson agreed as he stared out at the carnage. From somewhere in the night sky streaked round after round of heavy caliber gunfire along with rounds from an airborne howitzer. There was no defense against it if you didn’t have air-to-ground capability or air cover.
The Ghostrider was the great equalizer, and today it was their savior.
He closed his eyes for a moment, saying a silent prayer of thanks, and asking God’s forgiveness for anything untoward directed His way he might have said over the past few hours.
They had won the day.
Ibrahim stared in shock at what was happening. He simply couldn’t conceive of the firepower on display in front of him. All the guns of every Boko Haram member in the entire region couldn’t rival it. And his men were being slaughtered. Every single last one of them.
He started his motorcycle and gunned the engine, propelling himself toward the road and possible safety as the attack continued to his left, the explosions and bullets making a circuitous route around the base and closing in on him. He twisted the throttle, sending more power to his wheel and he squeezed the brakes as he reached the ditch, killing some of his speed as he leaped back onto the road, those already there scrambling to turn around.
He paused, taking one last look at the scene, then gasped.
Lawan collapsed back onto the ground with satisfaction as the wall of death approached. He had survived so far, but this was the end, yet he would die satisfied that the last shot he had ever fired had killed that piece of shit Ibrahim. Yes, they would both probably meet again in Jannah, where perhaps he would get to kill him once more, but that was a risk he was willing to take.
He pushed to his knees and closed his eyes, staring toward the heavens and Allah, his hands out, palms upward, as he said his final prayer, the ground shaking around him as the Americans rained death from above down on his brothers.
And for a moment, just as the round that killed him exploded, he hoped Jannah wasn’t real, so that Ibrahim could never enjoy the spoils promised a warrior of Allah.
74 |
Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
“Ghostrider-Six-One, this is Control. Recommend you target anything on the road, north and south for five klicks, over.”
“Copy that, Control. Adjusting targeting.”
Morrison smiled at Leroux. “So, better late than never?”
Leroux shook his head. “Earlier and we might have saved lives. Even just letting the French do their thing.”
“You’re right, but that’s politics for you. It’s an election year. The president couldn’t have the French saving the day under his watch. Our little idea, however, embarrassed him into acting, as did the threat of that recording the sergeant major made being released to the public.”
Leroux’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you tell him that?”
Morrison shook his head. “No, I just showed him a message Dylan sent me, promising to do just that, and the president issued the order. Luckily for us, we had some brass that took matters into their own hands and pre-positioned that Ghostrider in the area on a training mission after they received your call requesting its status.” He faced the room. “You all did excellent work here today. You saved a lot of lives, and any that were lost were not your responsibility. This is on Washington.” He smirked. “I’m sure you’ll all hear about your contributions on the nightly news.”
Chuckles and snickers washed through the room and Morrison patted Leroux on the back. “Good job, son.”
Leroux sighed. “Thank you, sir. It was a team effort, and I think I can speak for all of us when I say it was personal this time. Very personal.”
75 |
FOB Ugurun, Nigeria
Dawson stood on the rooftop, surveying the area as the Ghostrider continued to circle high overhead, its guns silent. Helicopters pounded in the distance as the Nigerians were finally bringing in their precious choppers, now that they felt it was safe to do so. Buhari’s men had secured the FOB, and were now making the rounds outside the wire, searching for survivors and finding none.
Hundreds of Boko Haram were dead, perhaps most of the 500 Langley had estimated were there. The Ghostrider had shredded the road in both directions, leaving few alive, the occasional sound of a motorcycle engine revving in the distance the only sign of life.
But there had been a cost.
Sweets and Jagger had been wounded though only slightly, Wings was slowly dying, but with choppers inbound he would hopefully survive, Clarke had a bad leg wound but he would recover as well once evac’d, but the worst of it had been taken by the Nigerians.
Without body armor, Buhari had lost twelve men, with another eight wounded. And inside the buildings, their thin walls providing little protection, ten civilians had been killed, and another twenty-two wounded.
But none had been taken by Boko Haram, none subjugated to the horrors that had been in store for them.
Spock stared up at him from below. “You okay, BD?”
Dawson nodded. “Never better. You?”
Spock smiled as he was hugged by yet another villager. “Just remembering why it is I do this job.”
Dawson chuckled. “It’s easy to forget sometimes, but something like this…” His voice drifted off as he shook his head, at a loss for words. Spock laughed as two young girls ran into his arms, and Dawson couldn’t help but smile as his friend, whom he knew had been having doubts about his future, carried them off.
Dawson stared out at the battlefield and wondered if those ultimately responsible were dead, or had they lived to fight another day. He sighed at the futility of it all, for even if the leaders had died here today, tomorrow there would always be another fanatic to take his place.
And he and Bravo Team would be here, standing on the wall, so those back home could sleep soundly without fear of those who would do them harm.
THE END
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BRAVO TEAM WILL RETURN!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I love Bravo Team. I’ve been writing these characters for over a decade, and each time I write one of their scenes, I find it so easy, as I know them so well. I could probably fill volumes with these guys just talking on a Friday night or a Sunday morning. It might be a fun exercise someday.
As I’ve said before, I put a lot of tidbits from my own life in my books, and this one was no different. One of them was Chris Leroux’s dislike of The Big Bang Theory when he watched it the first time. I lasted ten minutes before turning it off and turning to my daughter and saying, “I can’t believe this is the number one show in Canada.” Now I can’t get enough of it. I’ve binged it at least half a dozen times and another binge is probably coming soon.
Another is the recreation of the beans around the campfire scene from Blazing Saddles. I used to love that movie when I was younger, though haven’t seen it in years. I do remember that when watching that scene, I would almost pass out from laughter. I’m not sure I want to see it again, because maybe now, in my much more mature age, I might no longer find it as funny. I’d hate to destroy those memories, especially these days where nostalgia is so important.
Though I must admit, a good fart joke still cracks me up.
As usual, there are people to thank. My dad for all the research, Ian Kennedy for some info on FOBs and defensive tactics, Brent Richards for some weapons info, Ian Davidson for some motorcycle info, and, as always, my wife, daughter, my late mother who will always be an angel on my shoulder as I write, as well as my friends for their continued support, and my fantastic proofreading team! As well, I’d like to thank my Facebook followers for some character name suggestions, including Michael Brown, Ralph Kurtzman, Wendy Hartling, and a whack of my Aussie Facebook followers for some of the slang used here (any mistakes are my own!) including Susan Toland, Luisa Ciaglia Mulholland, Simon Jackson, Simon Warren, and Lesley Hall. Thanks, mates!
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The Templar Detective Thrillers
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State Sanctioned
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Red Eagle
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Tick Tock
The Redeemer
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