Red Flood (Winds of War Book 2)

by William C. Dietz

  The celebratory moment was short-lived however, because the Shmel Class patrol boat had come out to play, and its commanding officer knew what to do. The gunboat’s bow gun could pump out 200 rounds per minute, and put the shells where they counted—which was out front of the three-boat.

  Miller and her crew were still celebrating their victory as they ran into the stream of high-explosive rounds. The patrol boat seemed to expand before it exploded and ceased to exist.

  Kydd closed his eyes and opened them again. All that remained of the three-boat was some debris and patches of burning fuel. A lump filled his throat and his voice was a croak. “One-Six to SURCs one and two. Search for survivors. Over.” But Kydd knew there wouldn’t be any survivors. Just bodies.

  Only seconds had passed and the RCB was closing with battery number two. The enemy shell made a shrieking sound as it passed over the one-boat to explode a hundred-yards astern. “Go in all the way!” Kydd shouted. “Get under the gun and stop.”

  The helmsman put the wheel over, the boat entered a tight turn, and the mini began to fire. If the RCB could get in close, so close the D-30 couldn’t fire down on it, the sailors could pound the gun position into submission. Meanwhile the Russian-made gunboat couldn’t fire on them without hitting the cannon too.

  The one-boat skidded sideways, threw spray into the air, and began to wallow as the helmsman cut power. When the D-30 fired Kydd saw a flash above him. The RCB was in the pocket!

  The shore gun continued to fire impotently as the minigun and the starboard machine guns sought to find a weakness. Then the marines fired. Both rockets were dead on.

  An enormous explosion threw pieces of concrete high into the air. A blast wave passed over the boat while chunks of cement fell out of the sky. Kydd feared that a 100-pound piece of debris would land in the cockpit and plunge straight through. Fortunately none did.

  But what about the locks? Had they been damaged? Goolsby would go batshit crazy if he couldn’t go up-river. There was no time to worry about that so long as a Russian gunboat was on the loose. “Hit it!” Kydd yelled. “Before they can nail us!”

  The one-boat seemed to leap forward just as tracers slashed through the space where it had been. “Four-Six,” Kydd said. “This is One-Six actual. What’s your status?”

  ***

  Lieutenant Altman was standing on the bridge of a tugboat with the wheel in his hands. He was wearing night vision goggles—and the scene was clear to see. A riverboat continued to burn on the west bank. Flames shot up out of the shore battery on the east side of the lock. And there, in front of the tug, was a barge. It was positioned crosswise to current. That made it hard to push—but there wasn’t any choice. Not if Kydd’s plan was to work.

  Two Marine Corps eight-wheeled LAV-25 reconnaissance vehicles were chained to the barge. Their engines were running and their 25mm M242 Bushmaster autocannons were ready. Each weapon could fire 200 rounds a minute in the High-Rate-Fully-Automatic mode, and they were full-up with M791 armor-piercing tracer rounds.

  Taken together the LAVs were Kydd’s answer to the Russian gunboat and its deck turret. But someone had to put the barge in the right place at the right time. And that job fell to Altman. He could see the enemy vessel, which meant the people on the gunboat could see him, and would respond soon. “This is Two-Six,” Altman replied. “We’re almost in position. Give us thirty seconds.”

  ***

  “Go for the gunboat,” Kydd ordered. “Run along the starboard side. Then haul ass.”

  “Aye, aye sir,” the helmsman said stoically. “Starboard side, then haul ass.”

  Both boats were headed straight for each other at a combined speed of 60 mph. And both were firing. The mini roared and brass rattled around the cockpit.

  Red tracer whipped past on the starboard side as the enemy gunners tried to acquire and hold the speeding target. Then, for one brief moment, the opponents were side-by-side.

  Hundreds of machine gun rounds sleeted back and forth. A marine fell dead as the other one fired. The rocket struck the side of the enemy vessel’s superstructure and exploded.

  But as the helmsman put the RCB into a tight turn there was no indication that the enemy gunboat had been seriously damaged. Spray flew from its bows as the American boat fled and the barge-mounted LAVs opened fire.

  ***

  Flames stabbed the night as the M242 Bushmaster autocannons opened up. Taken together they were pumping more than 400-rounds per minute down-range. And, thanks to the high-tech targeting systems the LAVs had, almost every round struck the enemy gunboat.

  The Russian-made vessel was bow-on to the barge, which meant the incoming fire converged on its front turret, and burrowed through steel. A shell found ammo. There was a flash of light and a dull thud as flames shot up through a blackened hole.

  But, thanks to the gunboat’s automatic fire suppression system, the flames vanished as quickly as they appeared. Altman watched in horror as the enemy commander put his vessel about. The gunboat had two racks of rocket launchers plus a stern turret which housed a heavy machine gun. And all of those weapons were pointed at him! Rockets sleeted into the air as the machine gun fired.

  A rocket hit the tugboat’s stern, another exploded next to a LAV, and a third crashed through the front of the elevated wheelhouse. Altman stared at it. Nothing happened. A dud.

  It was enough to make a guy pee his pants. And maybe Altman would’ve except that Kydd was making another pass. After a rocket struck the gunboat’s bridge it continued to turn circles and was no longer under control.

  Altman was about to order a ceasefire, when the enemy vessel belched flames, and began to sink. The Egyptian tug captain entered the wheelhouse. He’d been battling the flames on the stern. “That enough. Fire out. You go.”

  ***

  The naval battle was over … But the operation wasn’t. Marine Lieutenant Jonathan Sommers and his platoon were waiting to come upstream and secure the dam.

  Sommers and his leathernecks arrived on a 75-foot tour boat, pulled up next to the floating dock, and hurried up a flight of metal stairs to the bridge above. Kydd had been expecting a fight but, much to his relief, there was none. It seemed that the naval engagement had been enough to scare Urabi’s guards away. And there were no police or firemen on the scene either.

  Sommers kept most of his men at street level, but a team of snipers was sent up to secure the elevated control room, and function as an overlook. “Good job, Lieutenant,” Kydd told him. “Now, since our mission goals have been met, I have something more in mind. But it’s outside the scope of our original orders. So there’s no need to sign aboard if you feel that you shouldn’t.”

  Second Lieutenant Jim Sommers was clearly intrigued. “Yes, sir. What do you have in mind?”

  “As you know a warlord named Hussain Urabi has been in control of the locks. I think I know where the bastard is. And, if you’re willing to loan me some marines, I’d like to go get him. I want volunteers though … This outing would definitely fall under the heading of ‘above and beyond.’”

  Sommers was hooked. “I’d like to volunteer, sir … And I have some men in mind. How many do you need?”

  Kydd shook his head. “No way, Lieutenant … Your place is here in case the bandits try to retake the locks. But thank you. Three volunteers should be enough. If one of them happened to be a sniper that would be perfect.”

  Sommers was clearly disappointed. “Aye, aye sir. I’ll ask around.”

  Kydd was wearing his tac vest, night vision gear, and carrying the HK416 in addition to his pistol. During Sommers’s absence Kydd took the opportunity to pick up some additional magazines for his assault rifle, two grenades, and an individual first aid kit. He was stowing the items away when Sommers reappeared. Three marines were with him. “This is Private Givens,” Sommers said. “And this is Private Lopez. Lance Corporal Stiles is a sniper.”

  Kydd looked them over. “What’s the first thing you learned in the Marine Corps?”
>
  “Never volunteer for anything,” Lopez responded.

  “Exactly,” Kydd replied. “Yet here you are.” The marines laughed.

  “Okay,” Kydd said, “We’re going after the asshole whose been running this facility. His name is Urabi. We’ll capture him if we can, kill him if we have to, and get the hell out.

  “Thanks to a download from the battalion S-2, I know where Mr. Urabi lives. And it’s only a mile and a half away. That’s the good news. The bad news is that he has something like 20 AK-toting yahoos guarding the area. But, since there are only two or three men on the roof, we’ll use that as our point of entry.”

  Stiles had wideset eyes, a pug nose, and a firm mouth. “No offense, sir,” she said. “But how are we going to get up there?”

  “None taken,” Kydd replied. “A minaret is located next to Urabi’s building. And it’s higher than the roof we want to access.”

  “That’s where I come in,” Stiles said. “I nail the guards from above, we jump, and enter.”

  “Exactly,” Kydd agreed. “Do you have any questions?”

  “Yeah,” Lopez said. “I have one … Let’s say everything goes to hell in a handcart. What then?”

  “Exfil to the river,” Kydd replied. “Two SURCs will be patrolling just offshore. Anything else? No? Then we’re almost ready to go. We’re going to need some climbing rope, and pair of bolt cutters might come in handy. ”

  “One of my squads will be on standby,” Sommers put in. “My call sign is Mambo-Four. Call if you need back-up.”

  “Thank you,” Kydd said. “Okay, let’s go.”

  It was 2235 by then, and the road was empty as Kydd jogged west. He was careful to stay in the shadows to the extent that was possible. The route was burned into his brain. First right, second left, next right. The lights were on in the buildings along both sides of the road.

  Kydd was afraid that someone would look outside and report the suspicious activity to one of Urabi’s men. On the other hand, the locals might decide it was better to ignore people with guns, rather than piss them off.

  Kydd paused in a shadow. The marines took up positions covering their left, center, and right. The faint strains of a rising-falling Arabic pop song could be heard. A horn honked somewhere … A donkey brayed in the pen behind him. That was all.

  Kydd led the team around a corner and up a street lined with shops. They were dark or dimly lit. He felt his heart jump as a cat dashed across the sidewalk in front of him. Stiles was in the two slot, with Lopez behind her, and Givens was walking drag. His job was to watch their six. The roar of a motorcycle engine drove the team into a darkly shadowed passageway, where they hid while the bike rattled by. Kydd led the team out and up to the second left.

  They hadn’t gone far when a man with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder backed out of a door half a block ahead of them, locked it, and turned away. Stiles lowered her rifle.

  When the man was gone Kydd waved the marines forward. The right hand turn came up quickly. The front of Urabi’s residence was washed with light. Guards loitered out front.

  Thanks to the drone footage Kydd knew that a narrow passageway led back to the alley behind both the mansion and the minaret next to it.

  It wasn’t unusual for Egyptians to pee in public, and the corridor reeked of urine. An ancient bicycle was leaning against the wall to the right, a window box hung off the building to his left, and a maze of clotheslines ran back and forth above.

  When Kydd came to the alley he paused to look both ways. Nothing. A left turn led him to the mosque. He turned to hold a finger to his lips. Urabi’s complex was only a 100 feet away. And if they …

  A dog growled and charged out of the darkness. The unexpected attack bowled Kydd over. He fell and the animal landed on top of him. Stiles fired. The dog jerked and went limp. Kydd pushed the body off and rolled to his feet. His heart was pounding and his hands were shaking. Could the marines see that? Kydd hoped not. Of more importance was the fact that the incident seemed to have gone unnoticed.

  Kydd turned and led the team back along the north side of the mosque to the Ottoman style minaret. What made Ottoman minarets unique were the walkways that circled around them every 50 feet or so. Not only were they pleasing to the eye, the local muezzin could choose how many stairs he wanted to climb, which in the case of the older men was fewer.

  A high wall separated the minaret from Urabi’s residence, but the structures were only 15-feet apart, and Kydd was counting on that to make his plan work. A curved door provided access to the minaret. It was secured by a hasp and padlock. Givens stepped forward. The bolt cutters made short work of the lock. Then they were inside.

  It would have been nice to leave someone at the entrance. But that was a luxury the tiny team couldn’t afford. The blob of light from Kydd’s headlamp led him up the winding stairs. The risers were high—and Kydd figured that the Mosque’s muezzin had thighs like tree trunks. Up, up and up Kydd went, until he was short of breath, and a doorway appeared.

  The first, or lowest walkway, was the one they were seeking. Kydd paused to turn his headlamp off before stepping onto the stone surface. It was about 3-feet wide.

  The wall was chest high. Kydd looked over the side. Thanks to the overhang, Urabi’s roof was about 10-feet away, and perhaps 15-feet lower than the walk around. Kydd turned to Lopez. “I need the rope.”

  “No offense, sir,” the marine replied. “How old are you? Thirty-five?”

  “Thirty-six.”

  “I rest my case,” Lopez said. “I’ll drop down, swing back and forth, and drop onto the roof. The rest of the team can slide down.”

  “He can do it, sir,” Stiles assured him. “Right after I kill the sentries.”

  Kydd grinned. “So this is a unanimous decision?”

  Givens nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay,” Kydd said. “Rope up.”

  Lopez cut a section of rope off the coil, fashioned a Swiss Seat out of it, and prepared to rappel. Kydd looked down before turning to Stiles. Her rifle was resting on a pair of gloves.

  Kydd was about to tell the marine that there were three sentries, that speed was of the essence, and that she needed to make kill shots. Then he realized how stupid that was. “Okay, Corporal, drop ’em.”

  ***

  Names had been bestowed on the sentries by that time: One, two, and three. Stiles planned to smoke them in numerical order. The key to success was her M110 Semi-Automatic Sniper System (SASS) with Sniper Night Sight. Had it been necessary to work a bolt, precious seconds would’ve been lost, and the movement could pull the barrel off-target.

  Stiles took a deep breath, let go, and squeezed. A gentle cough was heard as a 7.62X51mm NATO round hit the Egyptian’s head and blew his brains out.

  Stiles was already swinging left by then and lining up on number two. She touched the trigger. It gave.

  Three had good peripheral vision. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, opened his mouth to shout a warning, and jerked spastically as a bullet passed right through his teeth. The sentry’s body appeared to wilt. Then, like the professional she was, Stiles put an extra slug into each body.

  ***

  Givens said, “Go!” and Lopez dropped out of sight. Kydd leaned out to watch, but couldn’t see much, until the marine swung out and into sight. Then it was time for Lopez to repeat the performance. Once, twice, and the third time was the charm.

  The marine’s boots made a barely audible thump as they hit the roof. Lopez spent the next three minutes freeing himself from the rope, and securing it to a vertical plumbing vent, before signaling the people above.

  “You first, Stiles,” Kydd said. “Check the perimeter around the house. But don’t drop anyone.”

  After slinging her rifle, and pulling her gloves on, Stiles went over the side. The first bit was the most awkward. Then it was boot camp stuff. Stiles wrapped her legs around the rope and slid down, using her hands to brake. Kydd took note. “Your turn,” Givens said, and K
ydd agreed.

  After slinging his rifle, Kydd worked his way out onto the rope, and was surprised by the amount of effort required to lift his legs up and onto the line. Gravity took over from there. And, having neglected to bring gloves, he was forced to hug the rope with his arms. Once Kydd felt his butt touch the roof he let go and rolled to the right.

  Givens was on the way by then, and managed to land with more grace than Kydd had. Then he cut the rope.

  Stiles appeared out of the gloom. “There are three guards in front,” Stiles said, “and two out back.”

  Kydd nodded. “Nothing on the sides?”

  Stiles shook her head. “Not that I could see.”

  “Okay, let’s do this. Odds are that Urabi’s bedroom is located on the top floor … But that’s far from certain. If we fail to find him there we’ll keep looking.

  “Stiles, you’re the only person with a suppressed weapon, so you’ll be on point. If the rest of us have to fire then so be it. But here’s hoping we don’t.

  “Once we have the bastard, gag his mouth, and secure his wrists. We’ll fall back on the river. Okay, Stiles, hit it.”

  A large cupola marked the spot where the stairs emerged onto the roof. It was intended to provide access and allow warm air to escape from below. Cables squirmed up out of the doorway and wandered over to a small antenna farm.

  The door hung open, and lights led the way, as the Americans followed a circular stairway down. Shadows played on ancient walls, and a depression marked the center of each stone step, testifying to many years of continual use.

  The stair came to an end on a circular landing. A conventional staircase was waiting ahead. Catholic murals decorated the walls. And, judging from the multiplicity of doors, the 3rd floor rooms were accessed from the central core. “We’ll take them one at a time,” Kydd told them. “Stay on me.”

  Kydd had assumed that Urabi’s quarters would be located on the top floor. He was wrong. One door provided access to a storeroom. Two doors opened into vacant guest suites. A forth provided access to a filthy bathroom. The one the sentries used? Probably.