Red Flood (Winds of War Book 2)

by William C. Dietz

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Nagaa Al Jami, Egypt

  The Nile was exactly where it had been more than a week earlier, which was moored to the cruise ship dock at Nagaa Al Jami, waiting for orders that never came. Orders that couldn’t come until Kantar and his remote were destroyed.

  But even though the battalion was stationary it had a voracious appetite for food, supplies, and fuel—all of which had to be brought upriver from the Med. That alone was sufficient to keep the Riverine flotilla busy, because every time a tugboat pushed barges upriver, hostiles were sure to fire on it.

  The patrol boats took turns on escort duty, and even though Kydd could have remained at Nagaa Al Jami, he felt obliged to take part. To share the risks, yes. But for other reasons too. His presence was good for morale, and it offered an opportunity to evaluate his officers.

  So Kydd was on board the British one-boat, as a tired looking tug completed the long haul upriver, and nudged its barges in against the dock. Marines were waiting to help secure the barges in place and no wonder. Each time a convoy arrived there were cases of beer aboard. Two cans per person which, according to standing orders, had to be consumed within the Allied compound.

  An enterprising leatherneck could acquire more beer if he or she was willing to pay for it, or win a can while playing poker. Even so it was difficult to get drunk on three cans of beer. So disciplinary problems were rare—and well worth the positive impact on morale.

  The patrol boat had to go alongside the fuel barge before returning to its berth. Once the vessel was secured Kydd thanked each crew member and said goodbye to Lieutenant Fox-Smith. Then with his HK416 and pack in hand, Kydd transferred to the barge, and from it to shore. A five-minute walk took him to the Nile.

  Stairs had been lowered, but before Kydd could board, he had to show ID. Evans was waiting on the main deck. “Welcome back, sir … Did you run into any trouble?”

  “People took pot shots at us,” Kydd replied. “And some kids dropped a rock off a bridge. It landed on barge two.”

  Evans looked alarmed. “But the beer is okay?”

  Kydd laughed. “The beer is safe. And cold too … It was in a reefer hooked to a Honda generator.”

  “Thank God,” Evans said. “The usual pile of administrative crap awaits you. And you’re scheduled to participate in a recon briefing at 1400.”

  “A reconnaissance of what?”

  “That’s above my pay grade,” Evans replied. “But why would anyone run a recon downriver?”

  Kydd laughed. “Your powers of deduction are unparalleled. Let’s tackle the pile of administrative crap.”

  Kydd stopped by the dining room to grab a sandwich before heading to his cabin. Evans had “the crap” stacked in priority order. And Kydd was through most of it when 1330 rolled around. “I need to shower and change,” Kydd announced. “Take the rest of the day off. I will finish up as soon as I can.” Evans was gone thirty-seconds later.

  The meeting was slated for the ship’s library. It was a small room located midship on deck two. Shelves loaded with ancient paperbacks lined the inner wall.

  Kydd arrived to find that the battalion’s S2 Major Waller was present, as was Cassandra Cole, and the Egyptian engineer named Asem El-Baz. El-Baz had thinning hair, and a sizeable nose, upon which a pair of wire rimmed spectacles were perched. Kydd nodded. “We meet again, sir … I was there when you left Ezbet Sherif.”

  Cole spoke some rapid-fire Arabic, to which the engineer responded. “Mr. El-Baz remembers you,” Cole said. “But not fondly.”

  Kydd frowned. “Why not?”

  “You kidnapped him.”

  “Bullshit … You kidnapped him.”

  “Don’t be childish.”

  Major Waller was watching with a look of amusement on his face. “You two should take your act on the road. Have a seat commander … We’re here to discuss the recon scheduled for 2100 tonight. My mission is go up river as quietly as possible, determine the best route through the Cataract Islands, and take a look at some potential landing spots.”

  “And mine is to take Mr. El-Baz to a meeting in Aswan City,” Cole added.

  Kydd frowned. “A meeting? Why?”

  Cole paused to translate before framing her answer. “As you know, we plan to use Mr. El-Baz as a guide after the dam comes under our control, and Kantar is holding about a dozen engineers hostage.”

  Kydd frowned. “And?”

  “And there’s the possibility that by the time we enter the dam all of those engineers will be dead,” Cole explained. “But others have the necessary skills. People who, like Mr. El-Baz, are retired. And many of them live in the area around Aswan City. We’re building a B-team.”

  The need for a B-team hadn’t occurred to Kydd. “Okay,” he allowed. “A meeting in Aswan City. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Waller laughed. “‘What’ indeed? I’m going to bring a squad of Force Recon marines. They’ll deal with whatever trouble may arise.”

  Kydd looked at Cole. “What kind of trouble?”

  Cole shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. But, given the fact that Mr. El-Baz had to use word of mouth to organize the meeting, a lot of people know we’re coming. Too many. But that’s the chance we have to take. Taking the dam is one thing. Running it is another. And electricity is crucial to hospitals and emergency responders. People will die if the dam goes offline.”

  “Okay,” Kydd said. “I get it. We’ll take the one-boat. Meet me there at 2030.”

  “So you’re going?” Waller inquired.

  “Of course,” Kydd said. “Cole is helpless without me.”

  That was when the Egyptian surprised all of them. “On the contrary,” El-Baz said in perfect English. “Agent Cole is quite self-sufficient.”

  Cole laughed along with the others. Such was Egypt. Nothing was the way it appeared.

  ***

  After warning Chief Jones about the coming mission, Kydd took a much needed nap, and got up at 1900. That provided enough time for a shower and a hot meal before gearing up.

  Kydd arrived at the boat early, only to discover that Major Waller and his marines were already aboard, and crammed into the stern. Cole brought El-Baz aboard at 2100 straight up. “Cast off,” Kydd ordered, “and take her out. Keep it down to 20 knots.”

  Twenty-knots would have been fast on a lake. But 20-knots upstream, on a river flowing at roughly 6-knots per hour, was a conservative 14-knots.

  It was dark. But the helmsman had night vision gear on, as did the gunners, who did double duty as lookouts.

  Kydd felt the tension he always experienced when departing on a mission. But there was a certain eagerness too, because the Cataract islands served as natural barriers to any invasion, and the more he knew about them the better. The islets were located immediately north of the dam. Many of them were not only farmed but settled. Something to keep in mind when the invasion came.

  Also, downstream from the so-called “high” dam, where the bomb had been planted, was the “low dam,” built in 1902. That was as far as boats could go. Which meant Major Waller, and ultimately Colonel Goolsby, would have to decide what to do at that point.

  The marines could land on the east bank in a town called Nagaa Al Kaur. It was located just south of Aswan City and virtually uninhabited thanks to Kantar’s draconian efforts to clear people out. But based on the satellite images Kydd had seen, he knew that dozens of small islands fronted Nagaa Al Kaur, and would increase the chances of a grounding.

  That’s why Kydd favored a landing on the west bank, which could be accessed via a clear channel, once the invading force got past the Cataract islands.

  In either case Waller had to figure out how to move his marines roughly 5-miles upstream from the low dam and do so quickly. The leathernecks were in great shape of course … And could follow the river road south. But the march was still likely to take a couple of hours.

  On the other hand, if the bomb threat had been eliminated, it wouldn’t matte
r how long the marines took to get there—so long as they won the ensuing battle. And Kydd figured they would.

  The patrol boat was about ten-miles upriver by that time. And, as the RCB rounded a curve in the river, an amazing sight came into view. Thousands of campfires were burning on both sides of the Nile. So many that the light level increased. “What’s going on?” Kydd wondered aloud.

  Cole was at his side. And the jarheads were crammed into the stern. “They’re refugees,” she told him. “Tens of thousands of men, women and children, driven out of Nagaa Al Kaur and Aswan City by Hezbollah.”

  “But why stay here?” Kydd inquired. “What if Kantar blows the dam?”

  “They have nowhere to go,” Cole replied. “And, thanks to how fertile the land is, there’s been enough to eat. But that will change soon. The farmers can’t keep up.”

  Kydd looked at her. “You’ve been there, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” Cole said. “And it isn’t pretty.”

  The number of fires dwindled after that and eventually disappeared as the boat approached Aswan. Kydd was surprised to see that something like 25 percent of the lights were still on.

  “Don’t let the lights deceive you,” Waller said. “Most of the ex-residents are sitting around the fires you saw. Hezbollah left the remaining street lights on for their convenience. So they can find their way around the city at night. They don’t have any night vision equipment.”

  The Cataract islands were just ahead, and Kydd ordered the helmsman to reduce speed. Other than the burbling noise the exhaust pipes produced the engines made very little noise as they pushed the RCB upstream. A scattering of lights marked the islands that were populated.

  “Damn,” Chief Jones said. “It’s tight through here. It’s hard to imagine how a tug captain is going to push barges loaded with marines through the maze at night.”

  “Yeah,” Waller agreed. “It could turn into a real shit show. That’s for sure.”

  Once the boat drew abreast of Seheil Island Kydd ordered a turn to port. Then they motored north along the east bank toward Aswan City. “Watch for a blinking red light,” Cole told him. “Pull in when you see it.”

  There was no need to send the crew to battle stations. They were already there. But Kydd couldn’t resist saying “Stay sharp,” as the red light appeared, and the helmsman put the wheel over.

  “A guide is going to meet us,” Cole said. “A person Mr. El-Baz trusts. He will lead us to a location two blocks off the waterfront, where the meeting will take place. Once it’s over, we’ll return to the boat. Do you have any questions?”

  No one did. But Kydd had doubts. But doubts are natural, he told himself. So is fear. Don’t pee yourself.

  As the boat bumped the dock a sergeant led the marines over the side and onto the dock. They surged past the man with the light to take up positions beyond him. Kydd waited for the storm of incoming fire. There was none.

  Cole stepped ashore followed by El-Baz. The man with the red light hurried to embrace the engineer. They were gabbling in Arabic, but Cole was there to monitor the conversation, and that made Kydd feel more secure.

  El-Baz turned to Cole. “We’re ready. Mr. Bensaid will lead the way.”

  The sergeant gave orders and a marine took the point position. Two jarheads were right behind him, followed by the sergeant, Waller, Kydd, the Egyptians, Cole, and more marines. Everyone other than El-Baz and Bensaid was wearing night vision gear.

  Most of the streetlights had burned out, or been shot out, but the rest were on. They threw pools of light surrounded by heavy shadows. There was no movement other than that of the mangy dog which was following the unit. Kydd could feel eyes though … Or believed he could. And that was to be expected in a city where the few remaining residents couldn’t show themselves without being shot by Hezbollah.

  But what if the night had other eyes? Watching and waiting to take the group down. That was Kydd’s fear—but he hoped it was baseless.

  A woman was waiting next to a drab one-story building. She opened the front door and motioned for the group to enter. “Hold on,” the sergeant whispered. “Mack, Daniels, Ortiz … Check it out.”

  The marines went in weapons at the ready, and returned minutes later. “Five civvies, no weapons,” Ortiz reported.

  “Good,” the sergeant said. “Boost Daniels up onto the roof. The rest of the team will take defensive positions.” He turned to Waller. We’re ready, sir.”

  Waller nodded. “Take ’em in, Cole. Commander Kydd and I will follow.”

  Cole, El-Baz and Bensaid followed the Egyptian woman into the building’s darkened interior. Then, after passing through heavy curtains, they entered what looked like a conference room. Four people were seated at a long table. They rose to greet El-Baz. All of them were older and deferential toward El-Baz.

  Once the greetings were over the participants sat at the table while Kydd and Waller remained near the door. The conversation took place in Arabic, but was well peppered with English tech terms, and western slang. It seemed to last forever but stopped when Kydd’s radio burped static. “One-Seven to One-Six. Over.”

  “This is One-Six. Go. Over.”

  “Hez vehicles approaching from the north. It looks like they made us. Over.”

  Kydd looked to Waller who nodded. “Engage them,” Kydd said. “Warn the gunners … The shore party will be returning from the east. Over.”

  Kydd turned to Cole. “This meeting is adjourned. It’s time to amscray.” The last sentence was punctuated by the roar of the RCB’s minigun.

  Cole said something in Arabic, and everyone other than El-Baz made for the back door. Waller was talking to his marines. “Standby to exfil. Bring Daniels down. Four people coming out. Over.” He received two clicks by way of an acknowledgement.

  “Alright,” Waller said. “Women and swabbies first.”

  Both Cole and Kydd flipped the army officer off as they made for the door. Waller grinned happily. The marines were waiting for them and a firefight was underway. The sound of the minigun was overlaid by a loud boom as an RPG exploded.

  Waller had been a platoon leader in his younger days. “Larson will take the point, I have the two slot, and Sergeant Foley has drag. Let’s hit those assholes from the east.”

  Larson took off at a jog with the rest of them following behind. Kydd was in the six slot, behind Cole, and worried about the boat. Under normal circumstances the crew would cast off and haul butt. But that was impossible until the shore party was back on board. That left the tangos free to move left, right and center, as they poured fire into the stationary RCB.

  Larson slowed as he neared the riverfront and spoke over his radio. “Charlie-One-Four … Two vehicles, one on fire, one engaged. Over.”

  “Eyes open,” Kydd said. “We’re coming in. Over.”

  “Charlie Six,” Waller said. “Move left to avoid firing on the boat.”

  Larson rounded a corner and ran forward. The rest followed. A gun truck was positioned in the middle of the street. And, because it was mostly sheltered by a burning pickup, Ellis hadn’t been able to target it. “All at once now, fire!” Waller ordered.

  The marines plus Cole and Kydd opened fire. What happened next was reminiscent of the Bonnie and Clyde movie when a gazillion police fired all at once. The gun truck shook like a thing possessed, the gunner jerked spastically, and the loader collapsed.

  Larson led the team forward. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel and Waller shot him again. “All right people, let’s board the boat.”

  Kydd held the stern line until the rest of them were aboard. Then he threw the rope to a sailor. The bow was swinging free by then. And, one the RCB found the current, the Nile gave it a push. That’s when the throttles went forward and the patrol boat angled away.

  Jones was sitting on the deck, just aft of the cabin, holding Doc Niles in his arms. “He died on me,” Jones said, as tears rolled down his cheeks. “The bastard died on me.”

 
Cole knelt next to him. “I’m sorry, Chief … I’m very sorry.”

  Kydd checked each member of the crew. There were wounds, three of them, but none of them were too serious. And while the boat had suffered some damage, all of it was above the waterline. Then he could grieve.

  ***

  Aswan Dam, Egypt

  Kantar was dreaming about his brother’s wife when someone banged on the door. He sat up in bed. Damn it. He kept a pistol next to his cot. His fingers closed around the butt as his feet hit the floor. The banging continued. “Stop that! I’m coming.”

  Kantar never felt safe. So he stood next to the steel door with the weapon ready. “Who is it?”

  “Abdi,” came the answer.

  “Back away from the door,” Kantar replied.

  Kantar gave the fighter a moment to move and opened the door. Corporal Abdi was alone. Kantar lowered the pistol. “What’s the problem? Why did you wake me up?”

  “Lieutenant Marwan is on the radio, sir … There was a firefight in Aswan City. He wants to speak with you.”

  Kantar didn’t like the sound of that. He put a robe on, slipped his feet into a pair of leather sandals, and followed Abdi through the control area to the tiny com center located adjacent to his office. A tech was waiting. Kantar accepted the mike. “What’s going on?”

  “A truck patrol spotted a kafir boat and fired on it,” Marwan replied. “The boat returned fire with a machine gun and killed the men on the truck. Then another truck arrived. It took cover behind the first vehicle and opened fire. That’s when Allied soldiers attacked from the east. All of our men were killed. The boat escaped.”

  Kantar felt a stab of fear. Were the Allies about to push up river and attack? “What about our lookouts north of Aswan City? What are they reporting?”

  “The outpost on the west bank heard the sound of engines as a boat passed them,” Marwan reported. “But smugglers go by nearly every night. So they assumed that was the case. And they heard a boat go downstream after the firefight. But that’s all.”