Task Force Desperate (2 page)

The Colonel held up his hands. “Don’t worry, nobody is expecting just your team to go in as-is. Though I know something of the amount of gear you guys took for a simple maritime security mission,” he added wryly. There was a slightly sheepish exchange of glances at that. Truth was, we had been, how shall I say,
hopeful
when we packed our gear, knowing the part of the world the
Lynch
would be steaming through. “In any case, I have already gotten Caleb’s and Mike’s teams mobilized and on the plane. They’ll meet you there.”

“Not to throw too much water on the fire, Tom,” Alek said, “but even twenty guys aren’t enough to bust out upwards of two hundred hostages. Not only that, but how are we going to get them out? We’ve only got the one plane.”

The Colonel held up his hands. “I’m afraid you might have gotten the wrong impression, gentlemen. The job we’re being hired for is not the actual extraction. DevGru or some such will be handling that. You are just the recon element.”

Jim snorted. “In other words, they let their assets slip, and now have to hire out for their intel.”

“Fair enough assessment, James,” the Colonel replied grimly.

“What about the other teams’ weapons?” Larry asked. Getting weapons in and out of sovereign countries could still be sticky, even in this day and age.

“Taken care of,” the Colonel said, and we let it drop. The company did have certain under-the-table ways of doing things, especially in Third-World countries, so we just accepted that, come hell or high water, the other two teams would show up with all their gear, along with enough ammo to sink the
Lynch
. We had more immediate things to think about, and we could trust the Colonel--if he said we were good, we were good. It did leave one other important question still hanging, however.

“What about the
Lynch
?” I asked. Everybody turned to look at me. “Well, hell, we can’t just leave Van Husten in the lurch, can we? We took the man’s money.”

After a moment’s consideration, Alek looked back at the Colonel. “Which team is taking support duties?”

Heinrich shrugged. “Up to you. You’re the ground commander.”

Alek nodded. “Caleb’s team gets the duty. Fifty percent on the ground, the other five helo out here to the ship. Life’s gonna suck for them, but Jeff’s right; we can’t leave this contract hanging, especially not this close to Somalia.” After the
Syndi Hampton
, and the pointed lack of reaction to that particular massacre, piracy was now considered Al-Shabaab’s primary source of funding. “What all is on the way?”

“Some heavy weapons. I couldn’t get enough room for any ground transpo, but Caleb’s got the cash to get you vehicles on the ground. I can’t guarantee that they’ll be
good
vehicles, especially since I expect you’ll want to buy rather than rent.” Heinrich looked out of the screen with a cocked eyebrow, and Alek nodded. This was pretty standard, as we were probably going to end up beating the shit out of them. The Colonel gave one curt nod, and then continued to tick off the list. “More ammo and batteries. A couple of fuel and water bladders; empty, for weight’s sake. You’ll have to fill them on the ground. Some spare parts, mostly for the boats. That’s about it. Caleb’s going to have plenty of cash for you to purchase supplies on the ground; your best bet will be north, near the docks. That’s the richer part of the city.”

Everybody already had small notebooks out, and was jotting down notes, thoughts, and to-do lists. “Find the hostages” might sound like a simple enough mission statement, but it was rather dangerously general. This was going to be a bitch of a job.

The conversation with the Colonel went on for about another hour, as we got into the nitty-gritty, asking all and sundry questions that came to mind. The attack was picked apart, minute by minute. We studied their methods, their weapons, and tried to get pictures gleaned from the video of the shooters themselves. Odds were that most of the crowd wasn’t in on the real plan, so we concentrated on the trigger-men. Find the trigger-men, find the hostages, was the logic. It had worked the couple of times we’d dealt with similar problems, though not of this scale, in Arizona and Northern Mexico.

From there, we moved into other details. What was the coastline like? Tides? Hazards we’d have to deal with if we did anything waterborne? What did the weather look like in the immediate future? Where were the concentrations of population in the hinterland? Roads? Terrain? We covered just about every point of orientation and intel we could. Finally, the Colonel signed off, and we got down to work.

Alek and I went to see Captain Van Husten. This required Alek squeezing his bulk through about five more hatches and three tiny ladderwells. I still don’t know how he managed on ship when he was with Force.

I knocked on the Captain’s hatch, and after a moment was answered with a muffled, “Come in.” I turned the latch and swung the hatch open. Alek followed me in.

Bryan Van Husten’s cabin was barely larger than any of his crew’s berths. In deference to his rank, there was only one bunk, but other than that, and the personal mementos on the wall and desk, there really wasn’t any other sign that this was the home of the absolute dictator of this little floating country.

Of course, for an absolute dictator, Captain Van Husten was a very down-to-earth, friendly, and hardworking man, whom all of us liked, except maybe for Bob, but that was because Bob had a chip on his shoulder half the size of the ship. Bryan was a good old boy from Louisiana, who had joined the shipping company right out of his four years in the Navy, and worked his way up to skipper of his own ship. He was going bald, and a little fat, but his grin was infectious, though it slipped a little when he saw the looks on our faces.

“Mornin’ boys,” he drawled, standing up to shake our hands, as he always did. “What can I do for you?”

“Bryan,” Alek began, while I leaned against the bulkhead, “we’ve had something come up. Now, we have no intention of leaving you with your ass in the breeze, but my team has to go ashore, and soon.”

Van Husten frowned, as he sat back down, and motioned Alek to take a seat on his bunk. “This have something to do with that dustup in Djibouti earlier?”

“What do you know about it?” I asked.

“Just that there was some shooting and explosions by the airport,” he replied. “The skipper of the
Varant
heard some of it, and saw the smoke from the docks.”

“In answer to your question,” Alek continued, “yes. There was an attack on the US base at Camp Lemonier. Hostages were taken, and we’ve been hired to help find them.”

The Captain’s face was grave. “How many?”

“However many survived,” Alek said starkly.

Van Husten sighed heavily, and looked at his hands. “What are you planning?”

“When we make contact with Caleb’s team, we’ll shuttle them out here on the helo,” Alek explained. “There won’t be as many, but I need my team with me, and Caleb’s got support for this job anyway. Then the rest of us will go ashore, using the boats we brought with us. After that, you go on your way.”

“We’ll move in closer to the shore,” Van Husten said, his eyes on the bulkhead, thinking. “That’ll save you some time getting in.” He flipped open his calendar. “I think if I explain matters to Corporate, we can loiter for about five more days offshore, in case you guys need a support platform, or even someplace to lift the hostages to. Longer, if we develop ‘engine trouble.’”

Alek shook his head. “You’re more than enough of a target out here as it is, Bryan. Once we’re ashore, move out and finish your run.”

Van Husten looked at us levelly. “They’re Americans, aren’t they? The hostages, I mean.”

I nodded. “Some of them, yes.”

“I may be a fat old freighter skipper,” he said, “but I’m still an American, and a vet. I may not have done some of the high-speed stuff you guys did when you were in, but I took the oath, same as you. Maybe that doesn’t mean much to some, but it still means something to me. We’ll be here.”

For a moment, Alek and I looked at him, and then traded glances. I shrugged. I couldn’t fault the man for his stance. In fact, I liked him even better than before. It was risky, and he was potentially putting himself and his crew in a lot of hot water, especially if they did get hit by pirates while running racetracks off the African coastline, but he had a determined set to his mouth that told both of us he wasn’t backing down. Fair enough. It might even work out to have a sea borne platform to bring the hostages to, after getting them away from the terrorists.

“I’d try harder to talk you out of it,” Alek said, “but I can see I’d be wasting my breath, and we’ve got a lot of prep work to do. So, I’ll settle for telling you you’re a damn fool, but you’re my kind of damn fool. Thanks.”

“Least I can do,” Van Husten replied, as they stood up, and shook hands again. “Good hunting.”

Chapter 2

I
could hear the low, purring roar of our Bell 407 before I could see it. Even with my Night Vision Goggles, or NVGs, I only picked it up out of the equally dark sky and sea by the static discharge off the rotor blades and the heat off the engines. We couldn’t afford the fancy new PSQ-20 Enhanced Night Vision Goggles, so we’d gone with older PVS-14s with thermal attachments. Sam was flying dark, and low, which meant he had been doing a little hunting on the way out. Or at least scouting. Too bad the pirates usually headed inshore after dark.

I flashed my Surefire at the bird three times, and got the forward running light twice in reply. I flashed one more, as he buzzed past the port side of the ship, before swinging around to line up with the stern.

As the bird came in, flaring gently, I clambered up on to the forward edge of the pad, and held up the Surefire to guide him in. Sam brought the helo to a hover, as I waved him slightly to port, then brought him down, only having to make minor adjustments as he came in. It was a calm night, with little wind. Even the swell was minimal.

Once the skids were on the deck, Sam cut the engines and the rotors slowly whirred to a stop. Colton and Bob came up onto the pad with me, to help lash down the bird, while the doors opened, and the most morose motherfuckers you ever saw got out.

Matt, Fig, Jorge, Salomon, and Drew were our replacements on the
Lynch
. It was entirely possible, if the Captain had his way, that the rest of Caleb’s team would also come out to the ship to run support, but for now, these were the guys stuck with maritime security, while the rest of us got to go terrorist hunting. Sucked to be them.

Matt was short and skinny, tough as nails, and just radiating a combination of depressed and pissed as he got off the helo. He was pulling his heavy kitbag off the bird as I came up to him and clapped him on his shoulder. “How was the flight?”

He glared at me halfheartedly. “I’ve been on one bird or another for the last forty-eight hours. I don’t want to even think about flying for at least another twenty-four.” He gave the bag another yank, and it finally cleared the lip of the hatch, and dropped to the pad with a thud. The engines had finally spun down, so it was relatively quiet, except for the
thrum
of the ship’s engines.

I helped him haul the kitbag, which was about big enough to haul a dead body (okay, a small one), to the edge of the pad, then he went back to the bird to retrieve his rifle. The other three, along with Colton and Bob, followed along, lugging their gear behind them.

“Alek wants to get you guys settled in berthing, then let you get some sleep before changing over,” I explained. “But it’s not going to be a long nap, because we’ve got to get ready to insert tonight. Had Caleb gotten very far on getting transpo for us before you guys lifted?”

Matt shook his head. “He had a couple of possibilities he was going to run down, mostly Land Rovers or HiLuxes, but he’s not going to be able to do much until morning. He wanted me to assure you guys that he’ll be at link-up on time.” He shrugged. “As for down-time, we got a lot of sleep on the bird out here. We’ll stash our kit, then do changeover. Maybe if there’s less security noticeable after you guys go ashore, the pirates might try something.” He sounded hopeful. I chuckled, and led the way.

The helipad was an after-market addition to the
Lynch
, and had been built onto the bow. That meant we had the entire length of the ship to carry their gear, mostly between cargo containers. That was fun. Several times we had to stop and put the bags down, sweating our asses off in the wet tropical heat. Finally, we got them to the superstructure, then had to squeeze, pull, and push them through the hatches, and up one ladder well, then through more hatches, until we got to berthing. Our berthing was semi-controlled chaos, as most of us were prepping gear to go ashore for an indeterminate period, so everybody’s bunk was a gear bomb.

There was a chorus of mock rejoicing and insincere commiserating, mostly of the “sucks to be you guys” variety. Jim and Hank came over and helped us cram the bulging kitbags into a corner, where they’d be out of the way for the time being, then Alek came in, apparently having heard the commotion.

“Excellent, the sacrificial lambs are here,” he boomed. “I know you guys are probably tired, but we’re on a tight schedule. We need you to change over with the guys on duty, so we can finish prepping and get ashore before the sun comes up.” There were muted groans from Fig and Salomon, but Jorge just punched Fig on the arm, hefted his short-barrel SA58, and started toward the hatch.

“Where do you want us, Alek?” Matt asked.

“Two forward, two aft, right now,” Alek replied. “Rodrigo, Larry, Nick, and Tim are up on watch right now. You guys are going to have to work out how you’re going to rotate; sorry to say it, but it’s gonna suck any way you look at it.”

Matt shrugged. “Two up, three down. Gonna be more lookouts than sentries, for a while, anyway. If Caleb and the rest of the boys come out here, it’ll ease up. Hey, suckage is part of the job, right? If we wanted easy, we’d have gone to work at civilian jobs.”