He wiped a tear from his eye and growled at himself as he strode toward Dawson. He forced a smile, once again hiding from his best friends the horror he now lived.

  26 |

  Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  Leroux glanced over at a tally of the targets. There were now over 300 hostiles tracked by the computer, and he smiled at the image of Dawson clearing another weapons cache. He turned to Tong. “Radio that location into One-One. They’ll want to clear that as well.”

  She nodded and activated her comms, sending along the report. A zoomed-out satellite image showed a few villagers still making their way to the base, though most who wanted to take refuge were either already there or too scared to venture outside. There were over 200 villagers inside the wire. Walls of felled logs were being constructed, but there weren’t enough. There was no way they could protect the civilians.

  This would be a bloodbath that he and his team would be forced to watch unfold before their eyes. He had seen death before, of course, had even been responsible for giving the order to kill, but never anything of this magnitude where the killing would last for hours. It was one thing when a large group was wiped out in a massive explosion. There was a single instance of shock, of horror, of grief, but this would be something different. This would be a hopeless, valiant battle against impossible odds that people they had worked with for years would lose, sacrificing themselves in the forlorn hope they might hold out long enough for help to arrive to save some.

  This was why he did this job. Heroes like Dawson and his team were out there every day on the front lines, fighting for their country, protecting the innocent, their successes rarely heard of. Those inside this room were dedicated to doing their jobs well by giving Bravo Team and others like them the best intel possible, the best support and guidance possible, and doing everything they could to make sure these men returned home safely to their families, and succeeded in accomplishing whatever the mission might be.

  But today, that responsibility weighed heavily on everyone, with the lives of hundreds of men, women, and children on the line, as well as those of people he had placed in this position. The responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders in particular. It was his idea to reclassify the mission. If he had just left things alone, the Boko Haram raid on the school would have been successful. The girls would have been kidnapped, but the rest of the village would have survived, as would Bravo Team. But even with hindsight, he wouldn’t change anything, nor, he was certain, would Bravo Team. Saving those children was the right thing to do, and even if all were to die today, death was far more preferable than the future they would have looked forward to had they been taken.

  He glanced back at the screen as his team celebrated another small victory, Jagger and Spock having taken out the last of the Boko Haram moles. He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. They had to give them a fighting chance. He stared at the map showing Red’s progress, and it was minimal, though progress was being made. He sighed and turned to Tong, asking yet again the question he already knew the answer to. “Any word from Ledger yet?”

  She frowned, shaking her head. “Nothing.”

  Leroux muttered a curse and slumped in his chair, praying that whatever was delaying the Aussie’s response wouldn’t last too much longer. Too many lives depended on this Hail Mary.

  27 |

  Angels 10, Niger

  Ben Ledger groaned in ecstasy as he pulled back on the stick, the vibration of the airframe sheer bliss on his aching back and neck. He had been ferrying supplies from the port city of Lagos, Nigeria to various oil fields in the region for three weeks now, the executives at the oil company having decided it was far safer to transport the supplies via air than ground. Too many of the convoys had been hit by gangs intent on replenishing their black-market stock. It was far more expensive, of course, but it kept him in tawny and clean underwear.

  After the Charlie-Foxtrot in Afghanistan, his burgeoning little airline of one had been forced to relocate, though not before he managed to evacuate scores of those who would have otherwise been abandoned. What had happened in that country was a disgrace. The capitulation of the Afghan forces within days was one thing, but the breaking of the promises made to those who had worked with the Allies hand-in-hand was another. It was an unforgivable sin, the blood of every single man, woman, and child lost by this betrayal staining the hands of every politician around the world that hadn’t cared enough to plan ahead. This wasn’t a failure of American leadership, British leadership, or Australian leadership. This was a failure by everyone, politicians of all stripes, politicians who would never pay a price for the blood on their hands. The best those like him could hope for was that the conscience of those responsible would be haunted for the rest of their lives with the knowledge they could have prevented this.

  He pushed forward on the stick, leveling out at altitude, smiling at the blue skies ahead. This was where he was most comfortable. He had been Australian Special Air Service before he retired. He had learned how to fly pretty much everything out there that had wings or rotors, and he had fallen in love with the freedom flying provided, especially in countries like Niger, where the rules were fairly lax and the skies relatively uncrowded. Pull some aerial stunts over Canberra and you would lose your license. Do them here, and if anyone noticed, they would ask you to do it again so they could show their buddy.

  He was qualified to fly for the airlines, but where was the fun in that? It was a glorified bus driver, where the most excitement you had, unless something was going horribly wrong, was an unruly passenger sneaking a cigarette in the bathroom. Flying in countries like Niger and Afghanistan was far more liberating, far more exciting. Yes, he could die, but that didn’t bother him. He had led a good life, done a lot of good, and was comfortable with the legacy he would leave behind. He just prayed that when he did die, it wasn’t because he was doing some stupid aerial stunt that went wrong, but instead doing something worthwhile. Saving lives, or bringing in urgent medical supplies under heavy gunfire, something more than what he was doing today, ferrying flash-frozen steak dinners and other luxuries. At least in Afghanistan, every flight he completed he had been doing something useful, especially when he had helped out Dawson and his CIA friend. That had been the most excitement he had had since leaving the military.

  His partner in crime, Michael Clarke, entered the cockpit and sat in the copilot’s seat. “The cargo is secure. Looks like I did my job flawlessly yet again.”

  “What, and you expect a bonus for doing your job right, ya arseclown?”

  “Bugger off. Isn’t that the way things are today?”

  “Not among guys our age.”

  Clarke leaned back and sighed. “Thank God for that. I wouldn’t want to be young today. Too much DADS stuff you’re expected to follow.”

  Ledger grunted. “Bloody oath.” He tapped his phone, nestled in a holder screwed to the instrument panel. “Can you imagine if everyone had one of these when we were kids? Shit, we’d be in jail.”

  “Speak for yourself. I was a perfect angel when I was younger.”

  “Get stuffed! I met your brother. He told me the stories.”

  “That wanker. I’ll be having words with him the next time I see him.”

  Ledger noticed the phone indicated a message that must have come in while they were loading the cargo. He fished the device from its cradle and brought up the text message.

  IRENE! IRENE! IRENE! Urgent you call immediately. SOF friends require emergency assistance.

  His chest tightened with the message. ‘Irene’ was a codeword used among Special Forces Operators the world over to indicate a situation that had gone south badly, just like the Mogadishu mission the name was taken from and immortalized in Black Hawk Down. Things must be extremely urgent if whoever this was felt reaching out to him in this manner was necessary. And the fact they were attempting to reach him meant it was local, and it likely meant few if any others were available to assist. “Get me the satphone.”

  Clarke rose. “Just a sec, I’ve got it charging.”

  He disappeared for a few moments and returned, handing the phone over. Ledger dialed the number. It was answered immediately by a woman.

  “OC2. Identify yourself.”

  His heart raced a little at the robotic-sounding voice. “This is Ledger. I received an urgent message to call this number.”

  “Stand by.”

  There was a beep and a moment later a man’s voice came on the line. “Mr. Ledger, thank you for getting back to us. We have an urgent requirement for a pilot with your background. Are you available?”

  Ledger bit his lip. “I’m in the middle of a cargo delivery. It’s a short hop. I’d probably be unloaded in about two hours.”

  “Sir, I’m going to give you classified information. Are you in a secure environment?”

  He shrugged. “I’m angels ten. Is that secure enough for you?”

  The man chuckled. “I suppose it is. Without naming names, you’ve previously worked with a group of our people that you saw in Afghanistan recently while helping us out.”

  Ledger’s heart rate picked up a little more. This was the CIA he was talking to, the fact no names had been mentioned now explained.

  “Are you aware of whom I’m speaking?”

  It had to be Bravo Team. “Yes.”

  “They’re currently in Nigeria, in Boko Haram territory. Hundreds of hostiles are converging on their position and they can’t be evac’d as they’re protecting hundreds of men, women, and children that we believe Boko Haram intend to massacre.”

  Ledger squeezed the phone between his shoulder and ear and banked them hard to the right, in the general direction of Nigeria. “I might be able to hold twenty or so people at a time. If there are that many to evacuate, I don’t know how I can help.”

  “We don’t need your plane, we need your skills as a pilot. Can you fly a Chinook?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Yes.”

  “Can you fly it alone?”

  “I’ve got my partner with me. We could manage in a pinch. Why?”

  “We need you to go to a base camp in Chad, steal a Chinook and the cargo that’s attached to it, then deliver that cargo to the Forward Operating Base in Nigeria, possibly under heavy enemy fire. Are you up for the job?”

  Ledger stared blankly out the cockpit window, his jaw slowly sagging as he processed what he had just heard. Clarke stared at him inquisitively, having heard little of relevance from this side of the conversation. “Let me get this straight. You want us to break onto an American military base, steal a heavy-lift helicopter with attached cargo, fly it into Nigeria, and deliver it to a base surrounded by hundreds of heavily armed Boko Haram terrorists?”

  “Yes.”

  Clarke shook his head vehemently and Ledger grinned at him. “Count us in, mate.”

  28 |

  FOB Ugurun, Nigeria

  Dawson and Spock jogged through the gate, the six Boko Haram left behind to spy on them dead, the weapons caches now resupplying the FOB. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a lot, but anything would help, and keeping those weapons out of the hands of the enemy they would soon be engaging could prove even more helpful.

  They had been gone almost an hour, and significant progress had been made. The front loader had been successfully retrieved and was knocking down trees, pushing back the cover the enemy could have used against them. The felled trees were being limbed then hauled onto the base, a four-foot-high wall now formed across the south side of the buildings, construction of the west side now underway.

  The women were tending to the children and the elderly while preparing to feed the hundreds gathered with the food that those who had planned ahead brought with them, and with that already on the base to feed the soldiers. What was available wouldn’t last long, but rationing was of no importance. A hearty meal now could fuel the fight ahead, and should anyone survive until relief arrived, hunger would be the least of their worries.

  The younger children were playing, those old enough to understand what was going on assisting by clearing the area that would be their temporary shelter of rocks and sticks and anything else that might prove uncomfortable when lying on the ground.

  The men worked hard on the trees, desperate to protect their loved ones. With the exception of the children, the mood was somber. All who understood what was going on were aware of what was coming and that the chances they would see the next sunrise were slim. The spirit of these people was inspiring, and he smiled as a few of the girls they had saved earlier waved at him and Spock, the fear evident in their eyes, their gratefulness on their cheeks. There was no doubt they would rather die with their families than face the horrors Boko Haram intended for them.

  It made him all the more determined to hold out for as long as they could.

  Buhari flagged him down. “Sergeant Major, congratulations on your successful mission.”

  Dawson nodded. “Boko Haram won’t be receiving any intelligence from those they left behind. That’s no guarantee, however, that they don’t have sympathizers in the area that are still feeding them info, but our eyes in the sky are keeping a watch for anything suspicious.”

  “If they have supporters still out there, I’m sure they’re few and far between, and even if they aren’t, what more could they report than what was already. We’re hopelessly outnumbered with virtually no defenses, and despite your efforts, my government has indicated they won’t be sending in any more helicopters until they can secure the entire area.”

  Dawson cursed. “I guess I’m not surprised. But speaking of being hopelessly outnumbered, I have a suggestion. These people have a right to defend themselves. We have a lot of spare weapons now that we’ve emptied those caches. I recommend you take several of your trainers and any able-bodied man that’s willing, and start training them on how to fire those weapons and load-reload. They might not be able to hit anything, but suppression fire can be a powerful force.”

  Buhari’s head slowly bobbed as Dawson explained his idea, and by the time he was finished, his head was bobbing furiously. “Excellent idea, Sergeant Major, though it will mean fewer men building the barricade.”

  “Then ask some of the women if they’re willing. Some of the most capable soldiers my country has are women, and I’ve found over the years that mothers will fight to the death to protect their children. Let’s give them that chance.”

  Buhari smiled. “I think our odds are improving, Sergeant Major. We may yet survive the day.” He jogged off, shouting orders to his men as Spock stepped a little closer.

  “While I admire his optimism, I don’t think I share it.”

  Dawson sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, neither do I. All we’re doing is delaying the inevitable, but I know I would rather die with a gun in my hand protecting my family than a stick or a stone.” He growled with frustration. “These people deserve a chance.”

  Despite clearing the area of hostiles, the Nigerians were evidently too afraid to risk what few choppers they had and the crews that manned them. It was the cruel calculus too often played out on the battlefield among nations that couldn’t afford the modern weaponry they possessed, too often hand-me-downs in a proxy war where the added capabilities were only utilized when the safety of the asset rather than the soldier could be guaranteed. It often meant planes, helicopters, and tanks sat on the sidelines, like today where helicopters could be brought in with reinforcements and used to evacuate civilians. It was a risk, but it should be worth taking. He just prayed Langley came up with something useful that might even the odds a bit.

  What that could be, he had no idea.

  29 |

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

  Ledger and Clarke quickly completed the shutdown checklist, something memorized long ago. Clarke threw open the door and kicked down the steps. Ledger descended into the late afternoon sun, where a colonel stood alone on the tarmac, her hands clasped behind her back, her fatigues crisp, her jaw square. There was no doubt this was a woman not to be trifled with.

  He walked over to her. “G’day, Colonel, my name is—”

  She cut him off. “Is of no concern to me. As far as I’m concerned, neither of you are here, and your plane was never here.” She indicated a Bell CH-47F Chinook heavy-lift helicopter idling nearby. “Can you fly one of those things?”

  He eyed it. He had never been in one before, but he had read the manual. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She glanced at Clarke, whose demeanor never engendered confidence. “With just him?”

  “Yes, ma’am, he’s a bit of a wombat, but we can manage.”

  “Have you ever carried ten tons of cargo underneath you?”

  Again, he lied. “Yes, ma’am.” There was no backing out of this now. The last update indicated the situation was getting worse. There was no way he would let the truth get in the way of helping his comrades-in-arms and the innocent men, women, and children they were willing to die to protect.

  He would figure it out along the way if he had to.

  She eyeballed him, and for a moment he was afraid she had found him out. “Very well. In exactly five minutes, you’re going to hear an assembly announced. Every single eyeball on this base will be looking in the opposite direction. The helo is prepped and ready to go, and the cargo is already securely attached. Do you know what the cargo is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you know that’s the only hope those people have of holding out until reinforcements arrive.” She stepped closer, the taut muscles in her face relaxing, her voice softening as she extended a hand. “Go give those people a fighting chance.”

  He shook her hand. “We’ll give it a fair suck of the sav, ma’am.”

 

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