Under Siege (14 page)

“Rafii.” the report came back.

Murdock moved the rest of the SEALs and Delta men down the far side of the road in the brush until they were directly opposite the pickup truck. They were less than fifty yards from it. There was no movement, and evidently no shooters there.

Murdock handed his Bull Pup to Captain Engle. “Put a contact round Twenty on that barrel, Captain. Let’s see if there’s any more fuel in it.”

Engle grinned and took the weapon. Murdock showed him the selector for the Twenty and the sights. Engle nodded and aimed at the barrel with the weapon braced over a fallen log. He fired. The round seemed to hit at almost the same time the report came from the rifle. It exploded on target, with a gushing roar as the barrel went up in one huge fireball engulfing the pickup truck and singing the brush thirty feet away.

“Yep, guess there was some petrol left in there after all,” Captain Engle said.

They heard gunfire from the left and across the road. At the same time, shots sounded in front of them thirty yards down from the burning truck and hot lead sang through the brush and trees that hid Murdock and his men.

“Return fire,” Murdock barked. “Find cover and return.” The men scattered farther, stepping behind trees or dropping behind fallen logs, and began firing at the suspect area.

Murdock put two 20mm rounds into the spot and watched for any movement.

“Gardner,” Murdock said on the Motorola.

“Bit busy right now, Commander. We’ve got two or three hostiles who don’t like us a bit. We dispatched one, and one is running deep into the brush, but the other one is totally antisocial.”

“We’ve hit some here as well. Finish off your party there and come down the far side of the road under cover to find us. You’ll see a burning truck down about two hundred yards.”

“Roger that.”

“Cease fire, Alpha and Delta,” Murdock said on the radio. The weapons went silent and he watched the suspect area and listened.

“Lam, you hear anything?”

“Too far, Cap. Want me to go take a look?”

“Yeah, but carefully. Let’s have some scattered rounds to cover Lam scooting across the open road. When you’re ready, Lampedusa.”

Lam sprayed the brush across the way with his MP-5 as he darted across the open roadway and dove into the concealing brush on the far side. A dozen weapons fired into the suspect area to cover Lam, then quieted when he was safely across.

“Check your ammo,” Murdock said. “Might be a good time to put in full magazines.”

They heard more firing from Gardner’s squad.

“That wraps us up from here,” Gardner said. “Two down, one running for his life.”

“Bring the truck with you. Let it coast downhill. Lam is out on a hunt to see where our little friends are down here. We need to get into town and see where that chopper landed and what the madman did with the First Lady. Maybe he’s running, too.”

Five minutes later the truck rolled down the hill. Gardner stopped it just out of sight of the burned pickup and he and his men joined Murdock.

Lam checked in. “Skipper, I found the brass where they had been. At least five of them. Not sure where they went but they are gone, vamoosed, out of here. I’d say the area is clear, unless they try to hit us again down the road.”

“Come home my son, all is forgiven,” Murdock said.

Captain Engle looked at Murdock with a surprised grin. Murdock waved and told the men to get on the truck. “We’re a little more relaxed in our outfit,” he said to Engle. “Out here, every man relies on every other man. Rank or rate don’t mean shit.”

Engle nodded. “Way it has to be,” he said. “We’re working on it in Delta, but we’re not quite there yet.”

The truck rolled forward. Bradford climbed in the cab and found the last shot had not damaged the rig. He fired up the engine and Lam ran to jump onboard and they charged down the narrow but well-maintained road.

The men were prone on the bed of the truck with weapons aimed at the brush on both sides of the road. Bradford rammed the truck down the road as fast as the turns permitted and opened it up when the landscape flattened and they could see the buildings of the capital ahead and to the left.

“Get us to the airport,” Murdock said. He tried the Motorola again. “Don Stroh, on the Motorola. Can you read me?”

Murdock waited two minutes and tried again. This time a faint reply came through.

“Murdock, get some of … transmission.”

“Package is in chopper. May be at the airport now. Copy?”

“Murdock. Package in chopper. Will check airport.” As the truck rolled forward, the reception improved.

“Yes, a six-place chopper with the First Lady. Check landings.”

“Read you better now. Checking tower for landings and takeoffs.”

“We had a few problems, should be there in twenty minutes.” Murdock turned to Bradford. “Can’t you get any more speed out of this machine? That devil Badri may already be chartering a plane.”

“You think he’ll try to fly out?”

“What would you do in a similar situation? It’s what I’d do. Get away from here and try for another country. He must have the cash to go where he wants to.”

It took then twenty-five minutes to get to the airport and for Murdock to find Stroh in the manager’s office. The CIA
man was haggard and scowling when Murdock met him.

“Bad news?” Murdock asked.

“Damn bad. Badri’s chopper had landed well before your call came. The tower reported that he set down and the four passengers transferred at once to an old F-35 Beechcraft Bonanza that had been chartered yesterday. The pilot had already filed a flight plan for Namibia and took off at once. That was a little over an hour ago.”

“Did they head for Namibia?”

“Evidently. No sign that’s where they’ll wind up. I checked. The plane has a range of a little over eight hundred miles.”

“How far is it to the Namibia capital?” Murdock asked.

“The tower operator says it’s only four hundred and fifty miles.”

“Our jet still here?”

“Yes.”

“Crank it up, we’re out of here as soon as we can get loaded and cleared for takeoff. How fast is that Bonanza?”

“Not sure, maybe a hundred and eighty miles an hour, maybe up to two hundred.”

“We should be able to beat them there,” Murdock said. “This is sounding more and more like an orchestrated event, and we’re playing the fools. Let’s get out of here.”

Murdock growled as it took them twenty-five minutes to get airborne. He put all the SEALs onboard, said goodbye to Captain Engle and his men, and tried to figure the times.

“Jaybird, the Bonanza should take almost two and a quarter hours to get to Windhoek, the capital down in Namibia. According to the tower, they left at thirteen-twenty. They should arrive at fifteen thirty-five. We left at fourteen forty-five. When do we hit the capital?”

“Less than an hour flight time, including takeoff and let-down. Say fifty minutes total. This biz jet rolls at five hundred miles an hour. Puts us in Windhoek at fifteen thirty-five. The same time they should land.”

“lf we’re lucky,” Murdock said. “If we don’t run into a headwind of fifty knots.”

“One problem, Commander,” Jaybird said, shifting in his seat. “We don’t have any firm speed on that Beechcraft Bonanza. It’s the older model, and I don’t remember any specs on it. If it can get, say, two hundred and ten mph out of that mill, they’ll beat us there by ten minutes.”

“Thanks, Jaybird. I really needed that. You may take one giant step out the forward hatch.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you sir!” Jaybird said grinning. But he knew enough when to shut up.

Murdock went forward to see if they could go to maximum cruise speed at 25,000 feet instead of 40,000 and get another eighty miles an hour out of the plane. The Coast Guard lieutenant flying the plane shook his head.

“Not without special written instructions from my superior,” the pilot said.

Murdock argued with him a minute, playing his CNO and presidential cards, but the pilot wouldn’t budge.

“Hey, Captain, this is just a routine mission for me. I didn’t get any notice of special circumstances that would let me go to max cruise speed.”

Windhoek, Namibia Airport

They landed precisely at fifteen-forty.

Murdock hurried up to the cabin to call the tower and ask them if the Beechcraft Bonanza had landed yet.

Jaybird stood right behind him.

Murdock shook his head. “Jaybird, we’ll know soon if the First Lady has landed. You realize that if she has, I’ll have you shot.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!” Jaybird said, his grin growing with every second.

“Yes, U.S. Military Gulfstream Four,” the tower voice said over the radio. “That’s an affirmative. The craft you inquire about landed here twelve minutes ago. Requested
refueling and immediate takeoff. They filed a flight plan by radio for Botswana. That’s to the east of us. However, air traffic controllers report the plane took off four minutes ago and turned directly south.”

“Where could he land down that way?” Murdock asked.

“Not a lot of airports. About eight hundred miles south is Cape Town, South Africa. But that craft could reach Cape Town without refueling.”

“So can we, tower. I’d like to ask for an immediate take-off. That plane that left is carrying a kidnap victim we’re attempting to retrieve.”

“Put your pilot on to file a radio flight plan and you’re on your way.”

Murdock gave the mike to the pilot and went back to the cabin with Jaybird. Murdock pointed his index finger at Jaybird like the barrell of a gun. He cocked his thumb.

“Bang, bang, Jaybird,” he said. He told the crew what had happened.

“I hope to hell the galley is well stocked,” Rafii said. “I could eat a horse.”

It was, and Murdock saw that they ate as soon as they reached their altitude of 40,000 feet.

Murdock finished off the airline package dinner tray and talked to the men. “This time we should have him. If he flies into Cape Town, we should beat him there by well over two hours. Then we’ll see what happens on the ground.”

Command Motor Home

Twenty Miles Inside Iraq

General Majid looked around the table at his top command generals. He saw some disbelief, some shock, one angry face.

“Is there anyone who disagrees with my orders? Are there any of you who will not comply
immediately
?”

All but one of the men shook their heads and looked down at the situation map. Only General Musuli stared hard at General Majid.

“Sir, as your top commander of tanks, it is my duty to caution you about this thrust. We stand to lose ninety percent of our tanks with such an attack without at least artillery preparation.”

“Then Musuli, you refuse my order?”

Before the general could say a word, General Majid drew his-pistol and from six feet away fired two rounds into the tank man’s chest. Musuli staggered backwards and then collapsed on the floor. The men remaining in the motor home blanched with shock, but at once moved out the door and began shouting orders. The last two men had to step over the body.

Majid strode to the door. “I want every plane we have that can fly in the air and bombing the advancing Iraqis. Concentrate on the Iraqi tanks, those big ones. Knock out every tank your flyers can. You hear me? Go after the damn
tanks. Destroy every damn one of them. All the tanks. Bring up another ten thousand men. We’ll swarm over them with mass charges if nothing else. We move ahead, or, gentlemen, we die where we stand.”

The generals had stopped, listened, and now ran to their respective command vehicles to give the orders.

Ten miles ahead in the narrow corridor, four Iranian tanks had positioned themselves on the reverse slope of a small hill, concealing themselves from the enemy out front. At twenty-minute intervals, one tank would charge up so the gunner could see over the lip of the hill. He would look for targets, and whether he found one or not, he would fire a round at the best possible enemy truck or squad of men or an Iraqi tank if he was lucky, then give the order to race back down the hill and out of sight.

A mile away, a dozen T-62 Iraqi tanks were dug in on the reverse slope of a hill with only their long barrel and the hatch area exposed. They were camouflaged, and from a quarter of a mile away were practically invisible. The commander of the twelve heavy, Russian-built tanks had been watching the Iranian tanks playing run and shoot. Iraqi Captain Sabaawi had seen three tanks rush up, fire and. roll back. This time he was ready. He had designated three of his tank gunners to pick a spot along the top of the ridge, forty yards apart, and zero in the big guns on them. Wherever the next Iranian tank rolled up to shoot, there would be a 105mm gun aimed close by. The gunner would have to make only a minor adjustment in his sighting and then fire. One of his tanks should kill whichever enemy lifted up its turret.

Captain Sabaawi waited and watched. He hoped his own gunner would get the shot. The last enemy tank had shown up on the far right. It would be the far left or the center this time. He had the center responsibility.

Faster than he thought possible, an enemy tank rolled
up so its long gun cleared the hill. It had come too far. Center. His gunner adjusted his aim slightly and fired. Well before the Iranian tank fired, it took the heavy HE round that penetrated the front armor and exploded inside the tank.

Sabaawi used his battalion radio. “Major, we just killed one of the Iranian tanks.”

“Good, Sabaawi, because our forward air observers report that there are forty more coming down the road toward us. They are five miles from the Iranian front lines. Our air is working, but we won’t be able to stop all of them. We’ll have to be ready to take them on. Hold your position. When the tanks come into the open, make every round count.”

“Yes sir, Major. It will be done. Why are they pushing so hard now?”

“We don’t know. They are bringing up foot troops as well. Watch for enemy air, it’s increasing.”

“Yes sir, Major. We’re ready.” He switched to his company radio and told his men about the new attack. He swallowed. Men would die out here today, lots of them. Some of his best friends might be dead already. He thought of home and his wife and the life he had chosen for him and his family. His sons were strong, they would keep the family together if anything happened. He shook his head. Now was not the time for this. He picked up his company mike. “We must pick them off as fast as we can. If you see a tank with a long whip antenna, shoot at that one first. It will be a company or section commander. Get ready, we may not have much time.”