The second was that in spite of their threat to kill 10-million Egyptians, the terrorists had been able to keep power flowing from the dam. That was intended to prove how reasonable they were—and smother the resentment outages would cause. Someone knew what he was doing.
“There it is,” a sailor said. And Kydd turned just in time to see blip two and three. The H&K was ready to fire as he stepped over to the rail. It was a scary moment. If things went wrong British sailors might die. Hell, he might die.
But if Jamil kept his word the fisherman could help them avoid most of the shoals in the east channel. It would take hours to find their way through the maze otherwise.
Kydd heard something bump the side of the boat. A light flashed on and off. And in that brief moment Jamil looked up at him. The fisherman spoke English surprisingly well. “I see you Effendi.”
“And I you, Jamil. Please come aboard.”
A sailor reached down to take Jamil’s hand and pull him up. Kydd had been holding his breath. He let it go. Hawkins was at his side. “Take Jamil forward. Order the helmsman to follow his instructions. And tell the two-boat to close it up.”
Even with a pilot, the trip south was still a long, torturous process. Jamil tried using night vision gear, but ultimately rejected it, choosing to rely on his memory instead. And for the most part the Egyptian was successful. The boat was halfway up the length of the island before it ran aground. “I sorry, Effendi,” Jamil said. “River play tricks.”
Thanks to the fact that the boat was moving slowly, Hawkins was able to back off the shoal without difficulty. The turning-twisting journey continued. But the next time the boat ran aground, it was on some thick, glutinous mud. Hawkins ordered the helmsman to go full astern, but to no avail.
That forced the crew to pass a line over to the second boat, which succeeded in pulling the first Scimitar off. In the meantime Kydd struggled to control his impatience and let Hawkins do his job.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the one-boat rounded the south end of the large island, putting the small islet to port. A lantern had been hung on the south end of the barge making it easy to spot. The diesels were throttled down in hopes of catching the bandits by surprise. Then, as they drew close, Hawkins called for more power.
A bandit shouted something in Arabic and fired his AK-47 at the oncoming boat. The patrol boat’s machine gun responded in kind. The heavy slugs tore the watchman apart.
The Scimitar hit the barge hard as it came alongside. Kydd yelled, “Now!” and made the leap. A dozen men had been sleeping on deck. Half were on their feet and were trying to bring the Russian Kord machine gun to bear on the British boat.
The plan to keep things quiet was out the window. Kydd fired. The gunner slumped sideways and fell to the deck. “Cease fire!” Hawkins shouted. “Check each man, collect weapons, and search the barge.”
Kydd eyed his watch. The battle had lasted no more than 20 seconds if that. The two-boat was nowhere to be seen, and that was good, because the mission was on track.
A man moaned, a dog barked somewhere, and the Nile gurgled happily. Cole was gone. The waiting had begun.
***
Ezbet Sherif, Egypt
Floating docks were moored to pilings along the riverbank east of Ezbet Sherif, and connected to the shore via wooden planks, one of which gave under Cole’s boots.
The team consisted of Staff Sergeant Owens, Corporal Ortiz, Lance Corporal Kelly, and Lance Corporal Landro. All of whom belonged to the corps’ Force Recon—a legendary unit which was trained to carry out amphibious reconnaissance, intelligence collection, and raids. They wore headsets, night vision goggles, and heavily loaded tac vests.
Two of the men carried suppressed MP7s, and two had what Owens referred to as the “boom-booms,” meaning a 12-gauge shotgun for opening doors, and a 40mm rotary grenade launcher for “crowd control.” All were armed with suppressed pistols in custom thigh holsters.
But, if push came to shove, a CIA controlled Predator drone was circling over Ezbet Sherif, and could provide valuable Intel, plus Hellfire missiles if it came to that. Cole figured the odds of getting in and out without difficulty were good.
But a smalltime bandit named Abdel Tuma was not only in charge of the barge hustle, he had a tollbooth on the nearest highway, and ran the village. So his heavies could be out and about. The team began to jog. Ortiz was on point, his MP7 ready for a quick takedown, followed by Cole, Kelly, Landro and Owens who, if the agent was killed, would assume command.
The house that Asem El-Baz and his wife lived in was located a mile-and-a-half from the river. The first half-mile or so consisted of a dirt path that ran through a moonlit banana tree plantation.
Then came the smell of animal pens, followed by small houses with TV antennas, and darkened stores. Everything had a green hue thanks to Cole’s night vision goggles. The definition was excellent however—and a source of comfort.
The town was a maze of winding streets. Fortunately Ortiz had a GPS device that could guide him to the target. And they were making good time when Ortiz raised a hand with palm back (stop). The rest of them obeyed. When Ortiz spoke his voice was little more than a whisper. “Two men. Stationary. AKs.”
Cole considered that. Tuma’s thugs? Probably, but not necessarily. Lots of people went armed in wartime Egypt. She eyed her GPS. “Go left. Loop right.”
Ortiz made the OK sign with his fingers, turned into a narrow passageway, and disappeared. Cole followed. The path led past a store and a communal water fountain. Water gurgled down the drain and flowed back to the Nile.
A right-hand turn put them on the street where El-Baz lived. As seen through their goggles everything was glazed with moonlight like frosting on a cake. “On the right,” Ortiz said.
“Roger,” Cole replied. The El-Baz residence was two-stories tall. That made it a mansion by local standards. The upstairs lights were on.
“Kelly,” Cole said. “Try the door.”
The rest of the team scanned for threats as Kelly went forward. Three minutes passed before Kelly spoke. “I’m in. Dog down. Noise upstairs.”
Cole winced. Killing the dog made sense because if they didn’t, it might bark, or attack. But how would El-Baz feel about the loss of his dog? Would that prevent him from cooperating? “Hide the body,” Cole said, as she hurried forward. “Ortiz has the overlook. The rest of the team on me.”
Judging from the splinters the door had been jimmied. Kelly was inside. There was no sign of the dog. Once all of them were in the house Cole touched Kelly’s arm and pointed at the door. He nodded.
A narrow stairway led upstairs. Cole pointed to Landro, then Owens, and signaled “Go.”
Boots thundered on wood as the marines hurried upstairs. Cole followed. A woman screamed. Cole heard a man say, “Please! Don’t hurt us,” in Arabic.
Cole paused to look around. She saw a bed with a brass frame, an ornate wardrobe, and a TV which was tuned to a black and white American sitcom. Lucy with subtitles.
Cole had been raised in the Middle Eastern countries where her peripatetic parents taught school, and spoke fluent Arabic. “We’re Americans,” she told them. “We won’t hurt you.”
Mr. and Mrs. El-Baz stared at her in disbelief. Because she was female? Because she was blond? Because she spoke Arabic? There was no way to know. “You know about the Shia?” Cole inquired. “And the plan to blow the dam?”
Mr. El-Baz nodded.
“Good. We’re going to stop them. But, once we reach the dam, we will need some expert advice from a person like you. Will you help us?”
The team was going to take El-Baz with them no matter how the engineer answered. But, if he would go willingly, then so much the better. El-Baz turned to his wife. She nodded. He looked back. “Yes, I’ll go.”
“Thank you,” Cole said. “Please change into your running gear. You can bring your ID, but nothing more. If all goes well, you’ll be sitting in that chair three weeks from now. Please hurry.
”
She was on the stairs when Ortiz spoke. “Tangos at nine, twelve, and three. Danger close.”
Cole was on the ground floor by then. The night had a thousand eyes, at least two of which, had seen the team enter Ezbet Sherif—and move through the streets. Kelly was waiting. “Push them back,” Cole ordered. “Don’t let them form up.”
Kelly was carrying the grenade launcher cradled in his arms. “No problem, ma’am … Betsy and I will mess ’em up.” Then he was gone.
Cole switched frequencies. “Six-Six to One-Six. We have him. Exfil route-two. Tangos closing. Engaging. Over.” The transmission was punctuated by a loud boom, as Kelly dropped a grenade on someone.
The reply came quickly. “One-Six actual. Exfil two. Engaging. Roger that. Over.”
Kydd came across as cool, composed, and competent. The three C’s. Cole liked that. She heard a second boom as El-Baz came down the stairs. He was wearing a ballistic vest over an Addias running outfit plus shoes. The marines were right behind him.
Cole switched to the team freq. “We will exfil via route-two. Ortiz first, followed by me, the target, Landro, Owens and Kelly in the six slot. Move.”
Kelly was still laying down fire as Cole led the others outside. Once Betsy ran dry Ortiz fired short bursts from his SMG. AK-47s answered in kind. But the bandits were disorganized and their shots went wide.
Cole said, “Go,” and Ortiz went. Route-two took them to the right, and north along a narrow street. Some lights came on as others were extinguished. If an ambush was waiting on route-one the bandits would be disappointed.
That was the good news. The bad news was that route-two was half-a-mile longer than route-one. But that couldn’t be helped. Once the team broke out, the tangos had to give up or follow. They followed.
Kelly paused to reload the grenade launcher and fired. Clack-pause-boom! Clack-pause-boom! Clack-pause-boom!
Then, eager to catch up with the others, Kelly turned and ran. He was a few yards behind Owens when a bullet hit the back of his right leg, broke his femur, and plowed through. He uttered a yelp and fell. “Man down,” Owens said. “Turning back.”
“Covering fire,” Cole ordered. “Ortiz, you know what to do.”
Ortiz did know what to do. He didn’t speak Arabic, but the shove said it all: “Get going.” El-Baz began to run.
Owens had pressure dressings on both wounds and was binding them in place. A splint would have to wait.
Landro was kneeling. He had Kelly’s 40mm launcher. Grenades arched away, fell, and exploded. Cole switched to command frequency. “Six-Six to Blue-Bird. Over.”
“This is the Bird,” the drone operator replied from a base in Libya. “You have one-five tangos on your six. Over.”
“Smoke ’em,” Cole replied. “Over.”
Thirty long seconds passed, followed by a bright flash, and the sound of thunder. Cole heard a burp of static followed by Blue-Bird’s voice. “Screens clear. Three on the racks. Over.”
“You rock,” Cole said. “Over.”
Owens and Landro had Kelly in a four-hand seat-carry. It was effective, but slow. So the team was vulnerable to attack as the street turned into a path.
Erie moonlit gardens lay to both sides—with darkness gathered beyond. Cole was about to call Kydd when his voice boomed through her headset. “One-Six actual to Six-Six. On your twelve and closing.”
Kydd could have remained on the one-boat. Could have sent sailors to meet the team. But he hadn’t. Duty, Cole thought. No more than that. But still …
The train of thought was interrupted as Kydd arrived with three British sailors in tow. Kydd smiled. “El-Baz is aboard the one-boat by now … Not bad for a civilian. Welcome back.”
***
Bani Adi, Egypt
After returning to Bani Adi, and delivering Kelly to the battalion surgeon, Kydd went to bed. Evans rapped on the door five hours later.
And, when Kydd went to pull it open, the yeoman made a face. “You’re due at a staff meeting in an hour, sir. I figured you’d want to shower and shave first.”
Kydd yawned. “Thanks, Evans. What’s going on?”
“We’re going to pull out at 0600 tomorrow morning,” Evans replied as he entered the cabin. “So the marines are taking the camp down and loading the barges.”
Kydd considered that. The jarheads would have to move the antenna farm, the generator, and tons of supplies. It was a big job, and likely to last into the night. “What’s the scuttlebutt on our destination?”
“People are guessing,” Evans said, as he began to make coffee. “But if anyone knows for sure they aren’t talking.”
“Roger that,” Kydd replied. “Does the XO know that we’re pulling out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
A mug of piping hot coffee was waiting for Kydd when he emerged from the bathroom. Kydd thanked Evans, got dressed, and had just enough time to grab an egg sandwich from the dining room before heading for the First Class Lounge. As Kydd entered he saw that Cole was seated near Goolsby. He sat next to the surgeon. “How’s Kelly?”
“He’s in Israel by now,” the doctor replied. “We flew him out.”
Kydd was about to ask a follow-up question, when Goolsby cleared his throat. “Good morning. As most, if not all of you know, we’re pulling out of Bani Adi at 0600 tomorrow. That means there’s a lot of work to do.
“With that in mind I’ll keep the meeting short. I’d like to get things going by highlighting last night’s raid. Agent Cole led a team comprised of Force Recon marines, with significant support from our British Allies, operating as part of Commander Kydd’s flotilla.”
The announcement produced a smattering of applause, along with some enthusiastic “Oorahs” from the marine contingent.
Goolsby nodded. “You’ll be glad to know that Lance Corporal, soon to be Corporal Kelly is doing well, and is going to keep his leg.”
The news produced sustained applause.
Goolsby turned to his right. “Agent Cole? I believe you have some news for us.”
Cole nodded. “Based on Intel from numerous sources we know that a battalion strength contingent of PLA soldiers are traveling north from Sudan. We don’t have any signals intelligence to rely on. But, since Iran and China are part of the Axis, and Iran maintains an important relationship with Hezbollah, it’s logical to believe that the PLA troops have orders to support the terrorists. That means we might face two battalions when we attack the dam.”
That provoked a buzz of conversation, as well as a rebuke from Goolsby. “Belay the bullshit, people … Please remember that effective though they may be in certain circumstances, Hezbollah fighters don’t have much training, and aren’t well led.
“As for the Chinese, the battalion Agent Cole referred to has never seen combat, and compared to our forces has a top-heavy command structure. So there’s no need to soil your pants yet.”
Kydd heard some chuckles, as Goolsby turned to his left. “The S-2 is going to brief you on the trip from Bani Adi to Minya, which is roughly 100-miles upstream. That information is classified for obvious reasons. Major Waller? Over to you.”
Waller began by clicking through sat photos of the river. They went by rather quickly, and Kydd made a note to study them later. “Units from Commander Kydd’s flotilla will lead the way,” Waller informed them, “and suppress shore based attacks if any. They will also be on the lookout for feluccas, rafts, or other flotation devices that could carry IEDs.”
Kydd made another note. The river was lousy with small craft—and interdicting them would be a fulltime job.
At that point Waller turned the session over to the S-3, and S-4, who had shared responsibility for loading the barges and riverboats with supplies and troops. It was important stuff, but Kydd’s thoughts were focused on the responsibilities that he’d been given, and how to best carry them out.
After the meeting ended Kydd went to visit the flotilla where he met with his direct reports, i
ncluding Chief Jones, and began to assign specific responsibilities.
“Let’s start with the need to scout ahead and protect the convoy from IEDs. We have two SURC (Small Unit Riverine Craft), and I’m putting the chief in command of both.”
Jones smiled. “Yes, sir.”
“I suggest that you operate at least two miles ahead of the convoy,” Kydd said. “There’s no way that two boats can stop and search all the feluccas on the river so don’t try.
“Tell your civilian translators to order the fishermen over to the west bank where they are to wait until the convoy is well upstream of them. Fire warning shots if you need to, and if a felucca tries to intercept the convoy, destroy it.
“Make sure both boats have plenty of water rations, fuel and ammo. Do you have any questions? No? Okay … That brings me to the second line of defense.
“Two patrol boats, one American and one British, will operate downriver from the SURCs, and ahead of the Nile Queen, which will be the lead vessel.” Kydd would have preferred to put two of the more heavily armed American boats in the two-slot, but knew the Brits would feel slighted, and he wanted to keep the Allies happy if he could.
“When we come up on islands the lead patrol boats will have responsibility for checking both channels,” Kydd added. “Plus they will respond to shore based attacks if any, watch for drifting mines, and provide support to the SURCs should they come under attack.
“The American two-boat will operate halfway down the length of the column, where it can respond to delayed attacks, and rescue any personnel who fall off the troopships. The last thing we want is for the convoy to stop, or for boats to turn back in an attempt to rescue people,” Kydd added.
“The American three-boat, and British two-boat, will operate downriver from the convoy. Their job will be to protect the boats and barges from attack—and lend assistance should a vessel run aground. I will rely on Lieutenants Altman and Fox-Smith to make specific assignments.”
The rest of the day, and half the night, was spent preparing for departure. Kydd hit the sack at 2300, got up at 0430, and was aboard the Nile when she got underway an hour-and-a-half later. It would have been nice to start the day on any one of his boats, but Kydd figured it was best to stay with Goolsby in the morning. Later, when the convoy was five or ten-miles upstream, he would go boat-to-boat and visit with the crews.
Red Flood (Winds of War Book 2) Page 11
